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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Shelf-XS- ' 
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united states of america. 




Brooks gurgle -through their mosses, falling o'er 
Low mimic ledges. Page 45. 



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FOREST LEAVES 



AND 



THREE; Or, GENEVRA'S TOWER 



i^ars f^ulett gonng 



OMNIA BONA BONIS 



33 



Second Edition 



PRINTED BY 

H. O. HOUGHTON & COMPANY 

Cambridge, Mass. 



'"'SSS, 



/•rSw OF co'v^:^ 



8 



Y^,J^a^ 



Copyright, 1887, 
Bl S. & n. S. YOUNG & CO. 

All rights reserved. 



Tht Riverside Press, Cambridge. 



" Verse is an incantation, tvith dominion over pow- 
ers of the air. Prose is a sword at one's side to hew a 
path on earth. 

" Have nothing to do with poetry if you can help it, 
— if you can help it ; and if you canH help it, care 
nothing for my judgment, nor for any man's, hut, writ- 
ing as little as you can, hide your time." 



CONTENTS. 



PASE 

Proem I. 1 

Proem II 3 

Proem III 4 

FOREST LEAVES 

The Sense of Beauty 5 

Yes, I HAVE worshiped Beauty 6 

The Child Genevra 7 

Withered Leaves 8 

questionis 8 

"The Divine Idea of the World" .... 9 

Choice of a Home 12 

Perfectness in Nature Inanimate more than in Man 13 

Genevra 13 

Summer .......... 21 

Vacation 21 

A Memory 22 

St. Paul's Grove — Vespers 23 

The Dead Tree . . .24 

Sonnets. 

" mind of man, be humble " .... 26 

"Friend of my fireside" 26 

Impromptu Thoughts and Words .... 27 

Thanksgiving 29 

A Mood 29 

"Humming-bird, I wonder" 30 



vi CONTENTS. 

Hoping against Hope ....... 31 

Poetic Dkeams 31 

Alone 32 

Welcome, O Sun ! 33 

" Aspen fluttering soft and low " . . . .33 

Prayer 34 

Sonnets to Longfellow, ISSO. 

After reading " Ultima Thule," . . . .35 

September 37 

Autumnal 38 

Something Unexplained 40 

December 41 

Summer is Coming 43 

The Winged Visitor 44 

The Maidenhair Fern 45 

Forest Musings 46 

Wood Violets ........ 47 

Epithalamium 47 

A Bridal Musing . 49 

Wedded Love 50 

Gfnevra's Friend. 

"The smile of the sea" 50 

Genevra's Home . 60 

Maurice to Genevra 63 

Genevra to Maurice 64 

To Maurice 69 

At Sea 70 

The Letter 71 

Sonnet of Prayer 72 

The Refiner's Fire .73 

"Who ever lived, nor learned to know" . . 73 

Shadows and Light 74 

"Lord, that our Eyes may be Opened" . . .75 

The Spirit most Worthy his Care .... 76 

Lift up thy Lamp 78 

Light-Crowned 79 



CONTENTS. Vll 

Three: or, Genevra's Tower. 

A June Morning 80 

"God is Love" 86 

OCTAVIA to GeNEVBA 101 

A Note Poem 129 

STUDIES WITH HISTOKY AND POETIC MYTH. 

Mottoes 141 

Alexander 142 

AiiCrBiADES 145 

Cassandra 146 

Absalom and his Sister 147 

The Prophet's Chastening 151 

In the Days of Old 155 

The Voice of the Eloquent 157 

Endymion Sleeping 160 

Cleopatra's Soliloquy 161 

The Crucified 164 

Two Hours from the Life of Julia Domna, Empress 

Wife of Septimius Severus .... 165 

King Antheric's Envoy 168 

A Revery with Early English History . . . 172 

Edwy 175 

Ethelgiva 176 

The Pursuers 177 

Anselm 178 

The Crusades 179 

Berengaria of Navarrte, or, the Marriage of Cceur 

DE Lion 180 

The Fateful Houb 183 

Edward Plantagenet the First .... 187 

"Once upon a Time" 189 

The Gift 192 

The Betrothal Ring of St. Catherine . . . 193 

Sawda's Dream 194 

"The Little Queen" .... ... 195> 



viii CONTENTS. 

The Prisoner's Waking Thoughts . , . . . 201 
"The Fairest Thing to "Mortal Eyes" . . . 202 

Elisabeth 204 

constantine the eleventh 205 

Orion 207 

Our Country's Dead 209 

A Fragment 210 

Buried from the Battlefield 212 

The Voyagers 213 

"Let me Weep" 226 

My " Angel of the Covenant " 227 

PUKITAN AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The White Shield's Motto 228 

The Puritan Mother's Lesson 229 

The Garden Prayer of the Children . . . 231 

Chastening Pain 232 

"Take Thou thy Mother's Kiss" .... 233 

A Bird's Ministry 234 

My Pansies 236 

Snow in May 237 

The Best Boon 238 

An Angel is Ouks 239 

Christmas Evening 240 

Twilight 241 

In Memoriam 244 

Genevieve 244 

Heard 245 

The Last Page 246 



FIRST PROEM. 

Thank Heaven for kingly souls, — 

For thought that overroUs 

All littleness, and bright 

And broad gives back the light 

Of truth ! . . . Thank heaven for him, 

One of the seraphim 

Humbled to earthly woe, 

With pent immortal fire, 

With soul a daily pyre 

Of hopes, — Art's Angelo. 

For William Shakespeare's name 

Thank heaven ! His crown of fame 

Is not a thing that came 

For swift and light transfer, — 

Thank heaven for thoughts that were 

Shaped into deathless words 

True as the might which girds 

Eternal justice, — words 

Immortal as the mind 

To which they entrance find. 

Where memory's tide can flow, 

Onward for joy or woe 

Still must their presence go. 



FIRST PROEM. 

Moved on perforce, what if 
Weak hands uplift the pen 
Or marble of the cliff 
Dare chisel? When, oh, when 
Can anght but humbleness 
A spirit true possess? 



SECOND PROEM. 

Still leaves of thought, which on a shore un- 
known 
From life's tree whispering fell, as the soft tide 
Of morning air and sea-breeze wandering wide 
Have swept it, — or the sudden storm- wind blown, — 
Once more ye are upgathered, and now strown 
Abroad on flowing waters. Should ye glide 
Where some still voyager from his shallop's side 
May trace your half-told meaning, and a lone 
Sweet sense come o'er him, calm as brooding 
dove. 
Softening all pain, and lighting up all light, — 
The sense of Sovereign, deep, mysterious Love, 
Pervading joy that makes all beauty bright, ' — 
Then more than diamond dust were the rich gain — 
Then, trembling leaves, ye were not strown in vain. 



THIRD PROEM. 

Thoughts of poets rustle low- 
As the leaves when south winds blow. 
Like the rustling, whispering leaves 
They are hushed by summer eves. 

And they listen, hushed, and white, 
In the starry, silvery night, 
For an angel's gliding wings, 
And they keep some words he brings. 

Thoughts of poets, worship-stilled. 
Wait a prophecy fulfilled 
Which the inner life has spoken, 
Signed and sealed by truest token. 

Spirit hunger, sweeter far 
Than the sense-born banquets are. 
Is the token — 't is the spell 
Which can rule the earth-life well. 



FOREST LEAVES. 



THE SENSE OF BEAUTY. 

Beauty dwelleth everywhere, 
O'er the earth, and in the air, — 
But a sacred chrism must lie 
On thy heart to clear the eye. 

Beauty, dowered from above. 
Smiles alone when pleadeth love, — 
Hand that toucheth hand with hate 
Knocks in vain at beauty's gate. 

Waving tree-tops, closely wed, 
Benediction on each head, 
Win the golden sunlight down 
Through their leaves and branches brown. 

Daily beauty smiles around, 
Joys prophetic have been found 
When the lesson shineth clear, — 
Beauty means that God is near. 



FOREST LEAVES. 



YES, I HAVE WORSHIPED BEAUTY. 

Yes, I have worshiped beauty — worship still. 

Where shines this garment of the Holy One 
I bow to kiss its hem, and feel a thrill 

To be so near the Might, the Light, the Throne. 

Throned in God's thought must sovereign beauty 
dwell, 

And at his will it glows to mortal view, — 
In lightning splendor now it flameth well — 

Now smiles a rose impearled with evening dew. 

And I have worshiped beauty in the light 
Of kindling eyes, and lij)s all eloquent 

When seemed supernal powers unveiled to sight, 
And words of fire to human thought were lent. 

Still, I must worsliip beauty. I must keep 
This rapture to my life — this truant tone 

Of heaven's full harmony ; and high, and deep, 
Must seek, and find eternal beauty's throne. 



FOREST LEAVES. 



THE CHILD GENEVRA. 

All day the wind sang its minstrel lays 
With harmonies varied and quaint, 
Across the meadows, and through the leaves, 
Around the gables, and under the eaves, — 
Now high and proud as a conqueror's praise, 
Now like hymns of a cloistered saint. 

Little Genevra in the porch 

Threw back the chestnut hair 
From her full white brow, and listening stood 
While the oak-tree waved to the waving wood. 
And the maple on high swung a crimson torch 
For autumn kindled there. 

Below the meadow grass was swayed 
Along its level sea. 
To tossing billowy waves of green, 
With foam of laughing sunlight sheen, 
That lightly-curling, wavering, played 
With the wind in tireless glee. 

Little Genevra with smiling eyes. 
Where lights and shadows flit 
Above their deep so crystalline, 
Unconsciously yields a worship divine, — 
Soul's joy in the beautiful, which dies 
From life if wrona: enter it. 



8 FOREST LEAVES. 

WITHERED LEAVES. 

FROM THE BOOK OF A DECEASED FRIEND. 

Ye withered leaves of long ago, 

Strange is tbe tale ye tell, — 
Why come ye from your hiding-place 

To break time's Lethean spell ? 

O blue deep smiling eyes of love, 

O waxen white hands crossed, — 

Alas, that these frail leaves are here 
And ye to me so lost ! 

Ache, struggling heart, ache on, ache on, — 

Thy very pain is cheer; 
The chains that hurt thee link afar — 

Ache on, but do not fear. 

QUESTIONIS. 

My soul is like a silent listening bird 

Beneath the darkling j^ine woods flitted lone 
With noiseless motion ; while a hushing tone 

Of some sweet mystery is ever heard 

Through the green harpstrings by a low wind 
stirred ; 
And if too near some harsher sound has grown 
My pained ear waits, my thoughtful moods bemoan 



FOREST LEA VES. 9 

The broken spell, the cabalistic word 
That lingered passing. Nature's rhythmic dower. 
Gurgle of rills in springtime, and the throb 
Of waves against their barriers, or, more 
strange. 
The spirit voice of winds, had they the power 
For us earth's deepest secret forth to sob, — 
Alas, if 't were but drear material change ! 



"THE DIVINE IDEA OF THE WORLD." 

" The Lord answered out of a wliirhviud." " He quieteth the 
earth with the south wind." 

" A man who had never seen the sun rise, seeing it for the first 
time, would discern it to he Godlike." 

I LIST for a voice that speaks to me 

From the lingering wind and the waving tree 

As evening falls with its solemn power, 

And mystery fills the strange sweet hour. 

I catch one tone, and I sti'ive in vain 

To blend the meanings I scarcely gain 

Into a something which sense and soul 

Can grasp as part of a teaching whole, — 

Something is spoken, I fain would know 

Whence came the whispers, and whither they go. 

O soul of mine that dwellest dim 
Beneath the rays of the seraphim, 



10 FOREST LEAVES. 

Hast thou marked the lightning's fiery gleam 
Or seen the moon with silver beam 
O'er the tidal swell of ocean's waves 
Rule mild as love her mighty slaves, — 
Hast thou heard the rolling thunder's mirth 
And chanting winds round thy home of earth, — 
Hast thou caught the far-off cataract's roar 
Yet learned no more ? Yet learned no more ? 
Learned only this, a questioning wild? 
Alas thou child ! alas thou child ! 

There are voices deep of dread and power. 
There are whisjDers soft of the spring-tide hour, 
There are wooing voices of earth and air, 
There are kindly voices that banish care, — 
Triumphant voices that stir and thrill 
With might of a music grander still ; 
And through these voices, hushed or high, 
Morn's chorus joy or evening's sigh. 
One changeless truth all grief beguiles, 
For us a Father lives, — and smiles; 
A Sovereign Sire, whose starry state 
Bids thrones and powers in reverence wait, 
Speeds systems and worlds on their flying march 
Through the soundless deep of night's blue arch, - 
A Father near us, around our way 
Where raindrops fall, and forests sway, 
Where grows the grass, or unfolds the flower, 
Where light o'er the dial tells the hour, — 



FOREST LEAVES. 11 

Yes, nearer still, for He is part 

Of the kindling eye and beating heart, — 

Each pulse-throb born of our joy or pain 

He knows, each toil, nor will leave it vain. 

By thy childhood's ear deep truth was heard 

In the summer rill, from the singing bird ; 

In the soft air's kiss on thy flushing cheek 

Thou hast felt the love that did not speak, — 

Trust God, and know that Love wedded to Power 

Makes hope assurance, gives joy for each hour. 

Trust God, and know that the griefs which bless, 

The thirst for a high pure happiness. 

The sighs for a something still vainly sought, 

Are no " half-hinges " of fruitless thought. 

By reason, hopefulness, and right, 

We learn from the wild bird's southern flight, 

When autumn chills the clouded morn 

And gathered all is the ripened corn. 

That for each white-winged thought that soars > 

Beyond time's bleak and fading shores 

To seek another clime more fair 

Where throbs and smiles congenial air, 

Such summer clime must surely be 

A sweet and restful certainty. 

Trust God, thou trembling soul of mine, 
Behold his works that breathe and shine ! 
When shadow-fringed his garment's hem, 
When dim thy sight to mark the gem * 

* Love, or love-purpose. 



12 FOREST LEAVES. 

Whose splendor lights a charmed way- 
Through blinding terrors to Sovereign Day, — 
Still upward strive from death and dust, 
From sordid thoughts like cankering rust, 
From the gathering gloom of grief and pain, — 
Though worn the heart, and worn the brain, — 
Still upward strive, through toiling and rest, 
Still upward to reach the Father's breast. 



CHOICE OF A HOME. 

Build not on lowlands. Choose a pleasant height 
And one still higher, grander, rising near 
With gleaming crown where skies are ever clear. 

Live where below are all the mists of night 

That mildew and obscure our true birthright 
Of happiness, — do thus, and even here 
Life beams a new spring morning dear 

With welcome beauty for the spirit's sight. 
The far-off sea shall shining crest, and toss 

With vast rejoicing ; and the drifting winds, 
With harmonies unheard before, shall cross 
The bending tree-tops, while the melted snow 

From cottage eaves a gift in sunlight finds 
Purer than Eastern pearls to flash and glow. 



FOREST LEAVES. 13 



PERFECTNESS IN NATURE INANIMATE 
MORE THAN IN MAN. 

This plume of grass, this fresh rosebud, 
Though culled in Heaven's own air. 

Could scarce show more of perfectness 
Than clothes them now so fair. 

The stately tree that waves ajoft 

'Neath this all-lialcyon sky 
Might wave as well a graceful part 

Of scenes divinely high. 

One thing alone below the sun 
Keeps not its sovereign charm, 

And faintly proves its builder's hand, — 
The marred, mocked human form. 

One place, most wondrous 'neath the skies 

With madness oft is rife, — 
The haunted chamber of the mind, 

The palace of our life. 

GENEVRA. 

I. 

A Poet's daughter rare and bright. 
All dreams of beauty, joy, and light 



14 FOREST LEAVES. 

Were to her life a heritage. 

She needed not the learned page 

To show that an all-wondrous Power 

Moves veiled in nature. The high dower 

To feel, to know, to love, to own 

His presence, bow beneath his throne, 

Was hers ere childhood sought to frame 

In word the mystery of his name. 

A poet's daughter, — yet her sire 

She had not known, — his ringing lyre 

Was dropped to earth, the chords all broken, 

His life-dream new, his best unspoken. 

With pale hand o'er her infant head 

The bright uplifted face he read, 

And with slow smile and reverent eyes 

He vowed her to the sovereignties 

Of all pure thoughts that seal and bless 

From need of humbler happiness. 

Then dreamily his memory far 

Wandered, where bright with morning star 

And all the heavens' shining crown. 

Grand snow-white mountain peaks look down 

In depths of a clear beauteous lake, — 

As God's white majesty doth make 

A stainless soul his mirror. Low, 

And faintly murmuring as the flow 

Of a spent fountain, " for my sake," 

He said, " call her Genevra. Child, 

My daughter, bright one, undefiled, 



FOREST LEAVES. 15 

Thou bearest in thy new life the same 
Heaven-kindled and undying* flame 
That rayed my altar. It may be 
Words yet shall show splendor I only see." 

Claude calmly slept, — but earth no more 
Knew his awakening. Morning bore 
Her light to a hushed room, where lay 
A statue form of noblest — clay. 
Lingering there, a youthful wife 
Refused to weep, — was there not life 
In the still grandeur of that brow, 
And soul in the mute eloquence 
That dreamed like joy of saintly vow 
On lips of untold beauty ? Whence 
Should come intrusive tears to shade 
The haloed vision which death made 
All sacred now, and yet to be 
A starry calm of memory. 

II. 

The Poet's widowed bride had wealth, 
Friends of high station, beauty, health. 
And all that schools and culture give 
Of treasures that youth's hours outlive. 
Not hers alone the subtle grace 
Of polished manner, and the race 
Of deft white fingers o'er the keys ; 
But, thoughtfully as one who sees 



16 FOREST LEAVES. 

More than the surfaces of things, 

Of customs, characters, and brings 

The tests of reason to decide 

Questions of passion and of pride, 

She took her chosen noiseless way. 

The whispered words half-heard that day 

When her pale poet closed his eyes 

Were cherished as the changeless ties 

Where'er that spirit life might soar 

To raise her own to it once more. 

The mother left no menial hand 

To wield a mother's sacred wand. 

No menial's sullen frown to blight 

The soft eyes' kindling, questioning light, 

No harsh voice answering to the cry 

Of the young lips that should not sigh ; 

But, turning from the flattering throng 

That craved her rich voice in the song, 

She breathed her infant's lullaby. 

Full was the guerdon to her breast 

Of all a mother's heart knows best 

As, with a beauty half divine, 

The radiant child, so pure, so fine. 

Burst forth as from a chrysalis 

Winged with young raptures, formed for bliss. 

Not slow love's watchful care to mark 

The changing eye, now bright, now dark. 

Nerves quivering with the living thought. 



FOREST LEAVES. IT 

The breathless hush with feeling fraught, 

The languid calm of frame o'erwrought. 

Time, passing with its changes, soon 

Mother and teacher merged in one, 

Wisely, considerately kind. 

Often as came the summer boon 

Of flowers, and bird-song, and low wind 

Among the grasses, they would go. 

Teacher and pupil, where none know 

The weary steps of fashion's feet ; 

And by old forests as they list 

Or lone lake's mountain mirror sweet, 

With nature's self they held true tryst, 

Tar from the mockery and mist 

That hide her charm we fain would greet. 

Faint bloom stole through young Psyche's cheek. 

The thrilling nerves no more were weak ; 

The father's wasting fire gave way 

To soothing gladness calm as day. 

Then brightly for Genevra came 
School-days at last ; for, too, her name 
Must stand on the proud record, where 
Smile learning's stately temples. " Fair 
And silverly " on her must fall 
The halo of diploma, — all 
That fills and brightens the one day 
Which opens far life's prosperous way, — 
Therefore the school-days came at last. 



18 FOREST LEAVES. 

With them was opened too the vast 

Wide world of books Genevra knew 

But by a rich and chosen few 

Conned pleasantly in music rare 

Of her true teacher's voice, with care 

Selecting and rejecting, so 

That purest gems, — diamonds that glow 

With all-unshadowed light must be 

The earliest setting she can see 

In memory's chain placed fittingly. 



III. 

Like that of forest aisles a shade, 
Blent with soft rainbow tints, and made 
Most beautiful the classic hall 
With its high tracery o'er all 
Its honored memories. Within 
Lingered a group of girls to win 
In playful talk a respite kind 
After the school-tasks ; and to bind 
In closer braid their school-girl faith 
In changeless friendship — a mist wraith 
Sometimes, yet oft a golden glow 
Of sunbeams which no setting know. 

One with chestnut hair all curly 
On her brow so white, so pearly, 
Read by a window. 



FOREST LEAVES. 19 

Quickly spoke 
A frolicsome gay girl, and woke 
The echoes of the stately hall ; 
But let the high tone softly fall 
With sparkling laughter from dark eyes 
Whose mischief oft in kindness dies. 
" I do protest, Genevra Hale," 
She said, " and will o'er hill, o'er dale 
Proclaim you recreant from our league 
Of fun to-day. Why now fatigue 
Your dear eyes longer with that book? 
Come, talk with us, — I cannot brook 
A verity to still conceal 
In which you should some interest feel. 
Attentively now hear, and know, 
Sure as the days that come and go, 
That, of the students in these halls, — 
The gentlemen of course — it falls, 
Too, that we have some grand ones here, 
Worthy your seeing — do not fear, — 
All are gone mad to know the pale 
And spirituelle Genevra Hale. 
There's witchery in your eyes, they say, — 
And even our stately president 
To Madam Learned said one day, 
To your nativity was lent 
Some moonlight spell of field or wood, 
You are so wondrous fair and good." 
Genevra smiled, and the bright eyes 
Indeed had witchery deep and wise. 



20 FOREST LEAVES. 

Born of ricb. thoughts and sympathies 
And all-unsullied truth. " Most kind,"^ 
She said, " are they, if not most blind. 
I thank them — thank you all, and try, 
When in my power, to justify 
Myself from the arraigning skill 
Of merry Celia. Bear you still 
With dullness, but my friendship trust. 
In doing this you will be just." 

Her fallen pencil and a folding 

Of paper from the niuUion molding 

Were gathered with no care to haste 

As if to linger were time's waste ; 

But, when the cheerful talk renewed, 

The topic dresses elegant 

Worn by a bright belle at Nahant, 

She glided from the hall, and stood 

Erelong in a high balcony 

Above the elm-trees, where the glee 

Of giddy swingers from below 

Was heard, not heeded, while with slow 

Attentive care she turned, and read 

The fourth book of the Paradise 

Seen with imagination's eyes 

By old time's true-souled Milton. Fled, 

As the deep twilight veiled the page. 

Was, for Genevra, this dim age. 

While musings thronged her graceful head 

Of Eve, and grand old Adam, long since dead. 



FOREST LEAVES. 21 



SUMMER. 



A BENISON of peace dotli pass 

Over the world to-day, 
It waves along the meadow grass, 

Hallows the free bird's lay. 

From azure deeps of heaven it beams, 
And, peace, the hills reply, — 

The soft white cloudlets, like our dreams, 
Hover in peace on high. 

Uplifted forest tops of green 

Seem hymning of the blest. 
While on the far lake's glassy sheen 

The sails, like white souls, rest. 

God's peace breathes o'er our precious dead 
Where gentle shadows lie, — 

** 'T is not," the deep voice oft has said, 
" The worst of ills to die." 



VACATION. 

The summer winds are sinsrins: 
Sweet and low — soft and low ; 

My thoughts like tribute bringing. 
Calmly flow — grateful flow. 



22 FOREST LEAVES. 

The summer winds touch lightly 
On the sea — o'er the sea, — 

A thousand smiles flash brightly 
Upward free — clear and free. 

The aspen's light leaves flutter 
Quick with joy — wild with joy ; 

Their shadows fleck my shutter 
Gayly coy — fair and coy. 

O summer wind, soft straying 
Near and far — here and far, 

I know the things you 're saying, — 
Dear they are — grand they are. 

" Kiss the sweet air," * my spirit. 

Soothed and still — glad and still,' 
Life, Life, thou dost inherit. 
Feel its thrill — know its thrill ! 



A MEMORY. 

Upon a gliding deck the artist stood. 

And slow before him passed a beauteous scene, — 
A high cathedral shade of forest green 

With stately columns, seemed in hermit mood 

* " Kis3 the sweet air, and worship God, who fills it." — Hindu 
Saying. 



FOREST LEAVES. 23 

Advancing from the shore its saintly rood, — 
Its walls a lig'ht and magical soft screen 
Of vines and summer leaves, while intervene 

Dark arch, and shrine, and cloister, round which 
brood 
The spells that hush with blessing. And before 

That dreamlike fane of oracles low played 
The sunbright water, rippling to the shore, 
On whitened pebbles like fair ivory keys. 

Ah, God ! such harmonies alone are made 
For worshipers who wait on bended knees. 



ST. PAUL'S GROVE — VESPERS. 

Saceed the scene, when the slant sunbeams fall 
Along the columns through the oak-trees tall, 
And to thy eastern front, beloved Hall, 
The bright lake signals with its witching charm ; 
While all the whispering leaves around us move 
Like famed Dodona's, — or, with glad alarm 
As if they knew the might of living hearts 
Had set them all pulsating. We must love 
With truth which ne'er, go where we will, departs 
The deep-toned memories, that, stirring all 
Within to life, to toil, to strength, forever call 
With cadence clear and sweet from our far forest 
HaU. 



24 FOREST LEAVES. 



THE DEAD TREE. 



I SAW it with leafy honors crowned 

By a crystal streamlet's side, 
And its long fair boughs in their graceful sway 

Stooped down to the gentle tide. 

I ling'ered once beneath its shade 

At the noon of a summer day ; 
When youth's clear pulse through my temples beat 

In its swift and joyous way. 

And busy thought of my questioning brain 

Went out on restless wing 
To the unknown's far and shoreless waves 

Some tidings thence to bi'ing. 

Blest, blest, and beautiful seemed they all — 

Green earth, and the holy sky, 
And sold with its wondrous, fearful gifts, 

And doom of mystery. 

Years passed, from distant stranger scenes 

I came with a colder brow. 
But, by nature's altars wreathed and pure 

My spirit still could bow. 

The crystal stream on its winding way 
My footsteps traced once more, 



FOREST LEAVES. 25 

While a dim sweet thought of other days 
Led softly on before. 

I saw the emerald shore anew 

Hold the laughing waves to rest 

For a moment charmed and placidly 
In its violet-scented breast. 

And there far down in the stillness glassed, 

All riven, bleak, and gray. 
Was a giant form that frowned above, 

Though lit by the summer's ray. 

Then a mist came over the sunbeam's light, 

The breeze passed chillingly, 
And something mourned within my heart — 

But not for the blighted tree. 

A vision came with a pallid brow 

And stood beside me there, 
With pride-wreathed lips, and a clear dark eye. 

Away — 't was a thing of air ! 

Yet a being like it on earth once dwelt, 

With mien thus high and cold ; 
But the valley's clods press heavily 

And mute o'er the spoils they hold. 

A deep pall covered the wasted form, 
A deeper the passing soul, — 



FOREST LEAVES. 



A name that stands like the gray sad tree 
Was the proud man's earthly goal. 



SONNETS. 

O MIND OF MAN, BE HUMBLE. 

O MIND of man, be humble ; for thy themes 
Thou piercest as but Deity should dare, 
Nor dread unmeasured spaces beyond air, 
Nor years half infinite can bound thy dreams ; 
Yet, while from farthest star the raveled beams 
Of vibrant light their tidings to thee bear. 
Filling thy arrogant thought with new and rare 
Of learning's boastful claim, it well beseems 
Thou shouldst remember still how little tossed 
By thy adventurous prow is the vast main 
Of silent mystery, remember they, 
Esteemed as most triumphant to have crossed 
All dimness into truth, have soon from vain 
Weak moorings drifted, — bend thee still, and 
pray. 

FRIEND OF MY FIRESIDE. 

Friend of my fireside, home, and heart, whose gift 
Of crystal clear and analytic thought 
A teaching, prized and true, to me has brought, — 
Oh, may one shadow from thy spirit drift ! 



FOREST LEAVES. 27 

Oh, may one brightness o'er thy life uplift 
Its beamy wings, filling the soulless naught 
Which endless cold philosophies have wrought 
With an all-cheering Presence ! through some rift 
Of time's cloud-curtain dare to fix thy gaze, 
And with the lens of faith's grand telescope 
Watch patiently until new, wondrous rays, 
Across the dark slow stealing, light thy hope, — 
And soon, serenely shining from afar, 
The deathless splendors of thy Morning Star. 



IMPROMPTU THOUGHTS AND WORDS. 

" I dare not be a coward with my lips 
Who dare to question all things in my soul. 
I claim the right of knowing whom I serve, 
Else is my service idle. He that asks 
My homage asks it from a reasoning soul."^ 

" We demand 
To know Him first, then trust Him, and then love 
When we have found Him worthy of our love, 
Tried by our own poor hearts, and not before." 

Thou man of science and of wit, 

What pleasure can we find 
Though dark-winged birds of thought shall flit 

Out from their cage, the mind ? 

If there 's no God, 't is vain to brand 
His name for good undone, — 



28 FOREST LEAVES. 

He cannot come and fawning stand 
To wait our favor won. 

If there 's a God who rules the skies 
And sends the sunbeam's light, 

His power and wisdom will suffice — 
We need not guide Him right. 

He never will before the bar 

Of swollen pride confess 
That He has erred about a star 

And blundered in the mess 

Of whirling fire and awful void 
Where earth, an atom, hung. 

Prates boldly of his fame destroyed 
Since chirping insects * sung. 

No lowly, reverent mind in vain 

Looks to the heights above, 
Nor " spells in syllables of pain " 

All we may know of Love. 

* " The inhabitants of the earth are as grasshoppers."" 



FOREST LEAVES. 29 



THANKSGIVING. 



Give thanks for these : the soft blue sky 

With fleecy cloudlets fair ; 
And for soft airs that linger by 

Nor breathe of doubt and care ; — 

Thanks for the fresh green sj)ring-time leaves 

This sweetest morn of May, 
And that no sorrow inly grieves 

We could not bear to-day ; — 

Thanks for the aspen's quivering grace, 

The elm-tree's stately height ; 
While all the flushing charm has place 

Of orchards gladly bright ; — 

Thanks for the quiet forest shade 

And sunny flash of waves ; — 
Thanks for a still heart, calmly rayed 

With trust that cheers and saves ! 



A MOOD. 

Ye winds that come and go 
With dreary, dreamy flow, 
Dully I muse to know, 

Wherefore ? 



30 FOREST LEAVES. 

Ye flowers that live to die 

Like thoughts too glad and high, 

I ask with fruitless sigh, 

Wherefore ? 

Bright clouds that speed amain 
Like dreams we dream in vain, 
We cry from desert pain, 

Wherefore ? 



HUMMING-BIRD, I WONDER. 

Humming-bird, I wonder 

Can thy quivering wing rest ? 

What sweet blossoms under 

Hides thy peaceful spring nest ? 

Humming-bird, I wonder 

Can a spirit find rest — 
Hushed from terror's thunder, 

Is there yet a kind nest ? 

Humming-bird, I wonder 

Where 's thy tiny thought tossed. 
Atoms small asunder 

Far, and all unsought, lost ? 



FOREST LEAVES. 31 



HOPING AGAINST HOPE. 

SONG-BIKD of early spring. 
Forget not thou to sing, 
Earth has grown old with care, 
Faint hope seems half despair, — 

O might we hear 
Full notes of joy and praise 
From all life's common ways 

Outringing clear ! 

Sickness of hope deferred 
Falls o'er man's thought and word,- 
Send, send some voice of cheer, 
Bird, poet, saint, or seer. 

Great King divine, — 
Some message grand and true, 
Wakening to life anew 

This world of Thine ! 



POETIC DREAMS. 

Busy dreams that will be dreamed, 
Heaven-fair and rainbow-gleamed, 
Have ye made your promise sure ? 
Have ye charmed the heart-life pure ? 
To the true heights is your lure, 



32 FOREST LEAVES. 

Dreams, O dreams that seemed divine, 
Throbbing, fading dreams of mine ? 



ALONE. 

Knowest thou what this word meaneth. 

The loneness of the soul 
That moves divorced and silent 

Nor would that aught control 
In broadened ways to lead it 

Far from a given goal ? 

Canst thou bear the heavy silence. 
When heavier griefs oppress, 

Of blank, unanswering midnight 
When clouds no ray confess. 

And but the dim boughs waving 
Keep time to consciousness ? 

Canst thou be alone with the distance 
Stretched from star to burning star 

Through the awful voids and spaces — 
Alone with the near and far — 

Alone with the whirling terror 
Of being's freighted car ? 

Alone with mystery's problem, 
Here and afar outspread, 



FOREST LEAVES. 33 

Which slow Truth ponders over 

Nor dares to say, " 't is read," — 

Alone with the now and the endless, 
The living and the dead ? 

Alone with thought and feeling 

No mortal can help us bear — 

Alone with trembling and reeling 
In the arms of black despair, — 

Alone with God, and kneeling ? — 
Peace cometh heavenly fair. 



WELCOME, SUN! 

Night has been with us, night so cold 
We half forgot the sunshine gold 
Could kindle, feebly asked, if light 
Were ever more than darkness . . . Bright^ 
Thou comest in the flushing east, 
Great Bridegroom, for thy wedding feast, — 
Welcome, true Sun! 



ASPEN FLUTTERING SOFT AND LOW. 

Aspen whispering soft and low. 
What thou meanest I would know ; — 
Dost thou kiss the summer air ? 



34 FOREST LEAVES. 

Dost tliou feel that God is there ? 
Is thy worship like our prayer ? 

Aspen, aspen ! blest thou art, — 
No wild, aching, burning heart 
Mars thy gladness, dims thy light, — 
Aspen, kiss the sunbeams bright, 
Clap thy hands in joy's pure might ! 



PRAYER. 

God of the night and all its majesty, 

Clouds, and strange whispery winds, and burning 

stars. 
To Thee I call, A dimmed yet quenchless spark 
Of thy own gift of being seeks its source. 

God of the lightnings, which with blazonry 

Most wonderful and the triumphant rolling 

Of swift-wheeled chariots are passing now. 

To Thee I call — to Thee from out the deeps, 

Where sad maternal earth all vainly pours 

The faint sweet odor of her fading flowers 

And her low, mournful melody of tone 

On the unresting sense of agony. 

To Thee, to Thee I call ; for Thou alone 

Who dost command the lightnings, and they come, 

Spreading their flame-bright pinions to perform 



FOREST LEAVES. 35 

Thy mandates, — Thou alone canst send from far 
Along the turbulent waves of human thought 
Light's silver track, and speak the weariness 
Of wrong and vain life-questionings to rest. 

God of my soul, who knowest its aching fear 
And voiceless heavenward thirstings, bend, oh 

bend. 
From thy unseen and awful grandeur now ; 
And let that kingly hand, whose thrilling touch 
Gave more than life to Judah's leper, rest 
Its hallowing blest burden here — even here, 
On head and heart ! 
August 27, 1882. 



SONNETS TO LONGFELLOW, 1880. 

AFTER READING " ULTIMA THULE," 
I. 

Magician of sweet song, thy soft notes swell 
Along the evening zephyrs, — wilt thou spurn 
The earnest friend whose listening ear shall 
turn 
Won by each murmur of thy clear-toned shell. 
Whose music charmed, as words but faintly tell, 
My youthful homage, if I now discern 
Thy own plain lesson, — though I would not 
learn — 



36 FOREST LEAVES. 

Life's deepening pathos ? Yes, I read too well, — 
Crowned poet, thou wouldst lay thy laurels by 
To stand once more tranced with the " holy night,'* 
And watch Spain's moon rise o'er Alhambra's. 
height 
With youth's warm splendor in thy kindling eye 
And pulsing breast that never knew a sigh, — 
Life's fervid glow a lamp of ceaseless light. 



n. 

"I know that my being has a purpose in the omniscience o£ 
my Creator." — Outre Mer, page 292. 

Thou didst not err, O poet calm and true, 

Heaven sealed the " purpose," and thy work is 

wrought 
Nobly and purely ; long the world has sought 

And loved the stainless beauty. Hours tliat flew 

Like carrier-doves, bearing some richly new 
And peerless treasure from thy loving thought, 
Were white- winged messengers ; and they have 
caught 

Immortal air, and floated on, even through 

Immortal gates to meet God's welcome. Years I 

Oh what are years ? or ages ? Far outflies 
Them all a re-born spirit, — with no fears 

Of time's slow wreck while grandly it may rise 
In that Eternal Sun's life-giving rays 
Which beam omnific o'er all countless days. 



FOREST LEAVES. 37 



SEPTEMBER. 

As a sweet nameless miracle 

Around life's common ways 
Steals tlie enchantment to my soul 

Of stiU September days. 

It rests upon the hills and sea, 

Hushes the forest leaves, 
And for the restless heart of man 

A dream of childhood weaves. 

It lifts the mourner's veil away 

That grief -shut eyes may see ; 
And soothed as by the lips of love, 

Long sorrows cease to be. 

Whence comes the blest far-reaching power, 

Nameless by voice or word, 
While flow'rets die, and faintly clear 

The cricket's note is heard ? 

'T is more than soft and silent air, 
More than the sunlight's charm, — 

We feel a Presence at our side, 
Lean on a viewless arm. 



38 FOREST LEAVES. 

And when the wintry ills we meet 
Earth's children all have met, 

The spirit charmed with hope and trust 
Holds a sure amulet. 



AUTUMNAL. 

I. 

Autumn's deep voice I listen now — 

A wind-voice deep and low, — 
A lesson and a history 

Are in its measured flow. 

A history of all the past, 

Life's blissful summer prime, — 

O chant it, sweet mysterious voice, 
Thou worship-tone of time ! 

Tell of the hours to rapture given 

Of restless, kindling thought, 
When youth's clear vision, earth and heaven 

To swell the rapture wrought. 

Tell of the fireside hours with friends, 

The gifted, tried, and true. 
Who crossed as angel guides our way. 

The blest, the treasured few. 

And, more than all, tell thou of Him, 
The holy, heavenly Guest, 



FOREST LEAVES. 39 

Whose presence through all brightness past 
Beams centrally, the best. 

Still bring, O rhythmic chronicler, 

The memories we must love ; 
And with them breathe a prophecy 

To lift our hope above. 



n. 

Brown Autumn's lesson too be learned, 

So grand, so full, so clear, — 
Great Father of the universe, 

Give us the hearing ear. 

It tells that winter storms must sweep 

Across the smiling sky. 
That souls through doubt and suffering pass 

To clearer light on high. 

The summer bloom, the verdant leaf, 

The ripened fruit, we know 
Each in its turn must sink to lie 

Beneath a pall of snow ; 

But, lightly placed on every bough, 

That waves afar or near. 
In axil of each withered leaf 

Spring's new-formed buds appear. 



40 FOREST LEAVES. 

Thus we, though youth, and love, and life 

Fade from us day by day, 
Gaze on the swelling buds of hope 

Beyond death's icy sway. 

The autumn daj^s move grandly on, 
Numbering our years the while, — 

Father on high, each, as they pass, 
Stamp with approving smile. 

SOMETHING UNEXPLAINED. 

Autumn, thou hast strange power. Let me but 

hear 
From the old mountains and the woodlands sere 
The chanting chorus and the mystic chime 
Of far-borne music in thy voice sublime. 
And, lo, I am transfigured; backward roll 
Upon me joy and strength. The kindling soul 
Spurns off the hated shackles of dull 3- ears 
And worn thoughts quivering oft from smiles to 

tears ; 
While in their place, a grand uj)lifting hope, 
White as the cherubim, breaks clearly through 
Life's shadows, and all fearlessly would ope 
Heaven's gate, so full the wondrous trust, so new. 

Read me this mystery, ye woods and vales, 
Wakened anew by free and freshening gales, 



FOREST LEAVES. 41 

Read me this mystery, thou azure sky, — 
Nay, all-pervading Spirit, tell me why. 
As sounds the sure knell of the rosy hours. 
And fades the wreath from summer's radiant bow- 
ers. 
While fair frail things around in ruin lie — 
Why soars my joy on unseen wings so high ? 
'T is like the half-learned lesson of our faith, 
The lesson deep and sti-ange of life from death. 
Oh, may we tread the last dark riverside. 
To find of rushing light the smiling tide ! 
And as pale joys drop withered from the hand. 
The soul exultant thus a conqueror stand ! 



DECEMBER. 

He is come in his robe of ermine, 

December, so stately and grand, 
He chills the warm heart that would greet him, 

And I touch not his freezing hand ; 

But sit in my pleasant chamber, 

Where the pictured faces dear 
Are all that look on me kindly. 

Save the sovereign friend still near. 

I sit and list to the suro-inof 

Of thought-waves that come and go 



42 FOREST LEAVES. 

On the shore of my spirit's silence 
With ever varying flow. 

I question, fancy, and reason — 

Most conchisive reasonings to me — 

As I watch the snowflakes whirling 

Through the plumes of our own pine-tree. 

The pine with its pleasant story 

Of the home-life that once was mine, 

And which stands in ever green beauty 
Of fadeless joys symbol and sign. 

I think of two gentle maidens, 

In the light of their earliest bloom, 

Who kissed me and stept in the chariot 
For a land beyond winter's gloom. 

I think of a face calm and noble — 
So pale on one desolate day, — 

Lijjs that smiled like a glad sj^irit's smiling ; 
Ah, me ! could they pass away ! 

December is come in his ermine, 

December so rayless and cold. 
But for one thing how dearly we love it — 

The story by shepherds once told ! 

When the star over Bethlehem beaming 
Joined the heavenly chorus who sing, 



FOREST LEAVES. 43 

*' Peace on earth and good tidings 
To life's weary millions we bring." 



SUMMER IS COMING. 

The March winds are sweeping 

In triumph around, — 
Swelling and leaping, 

The waves of sound 
Dash on in their gladness 

Worn thoughts to beguile, 
For winter and sadiaess 

Shall vanish awhile. 

On, on, goes the greeting. 

Swift, southern, and warm, 
Wild harmonies meeting 

In mystical charm ; 
Glad voices seem blending 

With music once dear, 
To waiting hearts sending 

A message of cheer. 

I dreamily listen, 

And hopes full of joy, 
Xjike ocean-pearls glisten. 

Which naught shall destroy. 



44 FOREST LEAVES. 

Yes, summer is coming — 
The flute-tones prevail 

Over rushing and booming, 
The pride of the gale. 

Far opens the vista 

Of beauty once more, 
Through garlands, the misty 

Old mountains, the shore. 
Glad welcome ! Life-dreamer, 

Thy fears all unlearn. 
And summer, soul-summer, 

Keturn, return ! 



THE WINGED VISITOR. 

Cara, cara, cara, cara! 
The song comes through the orchard leaves^ 
It clearly swells by the cottage eaves. 
Listen, O silent heart that grieves — 

Cara, carissima, cara. 

A thing of joy for earth too bright 
Awakes the ear, and charms the sight, 
Singing with ever new delight, 

Cara, cara, cara, cara, 

Cara, carissima, cara. 



FOREST LEAVES. 45 

The bright bird caged beside the wall 
Quivers with joy iu his narrow hall ; 
The stranger lingers with soft, sweet call, 
Cara, cara, cara, cara ! 

Like all fair things of earth and sky, 
The flame-bird spread his wings to fly. 
And his song, like a faithless lover's sigh, 
Passed on, carissima cara ! 



THE MAIDENHAIR FERN. 

It lay beside my path, a withered thing 

Tangled with wood-bark which some lowly home 
Claims for its winter hearth-fire ; but while roam 

My thoughts regretfully that time should bring 

Beauty thus delicate to perishing, 

The fairy leaflets gather hues of chrome 
And emerald, and, poising, light as foam 

On stem of silken jet, they seem to swing 

With breeze-touch of their native wilds once more. 
Around me come all dewy woodland dreams, — 

Brooks gurgle through their mosses, falling o'er 
Low mimic ledges, light empyreal beams 

Through the high-clustering leaves ; and clearly 
rings 

Afar the Gloria a lone thrush sin^s. 



46 FOREST LEAVES. 



FOREST MUSINGS. 

Welcome as rest, O voices, calmly calling 
To my glad heart that answers to your calls ! 

Nature's deep music on my ear is falling, 

Wavering through summer leaves the sunlight 
faUs. 

I hear once more the wind's low murmurous surg- 
ing 
Through the far aisles of ancient forests borne, — 
Wakening from dust long -buried thoughts are 
urging. 
Live, act, thy life complete, thou spirit worn. 

Each forest tree, each bough a work beginning 
By its firm growth, the greater and the less. 

Some good for future years is slowly winning, 
The power at last to shelter and to bless. 

Shall man, then, man, the sovereign and the living, 
Creature of hopes and dreams, resign the trust. 

The right, the joy, the sacredness of giving, 
And listless, motiveless, pass on to dust ? 

Life, human life, thovi thing too darkly pondered ! 

Poor human 1 nasts heave not with shunless woe; 
Soul, exiled soul, from a far bright hope wandered, 

Its haunting melodies still round thee flow. 



FOREST LEAVES. 4T 

List ! the lone forest wind, now widely rushing, 

With tone oracular, arrests my ear, 
As if, the mind's chaotic tumults hushing, 

It breathed the mysteries we pine to hear. 

Oh, does it not ? As the low hymn of sadness 
Mourns wreck on wreck along life's stormy coast, 

So in the notes of grand and solemn gladness 
The listening spirit learns, all is not lost. 



WOOD VIOLETS. 

Saintly sweet the violets hide 
Moss the greenest close beside, — 
Sunlight stealing like love's bliss 
To them with a dainty kiss. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

Lovely lady, gentle bride. 
Thou art floating over the tide, — 
Not a single thought of sorrow, 
Only of a glad to-morrow. 
Dark and deep beneath the wave, 
Laughing, sparkling ripples lave 
By the yacht's low wavering side, 
Cheerfully greeting as they glide. 



48 FOREST LEAVES. 

Gentle lady, beauteous girl, 
With the lightly-waving curl, 
And the brown and tender eyes 
Where the soul's pure mystery lies, 
Lovely form and sweet round arm, — 
Kind heaven keep thee from all harm ! 
One of matchless manly grace 
Heeds thy changing wish or face — 
Ah ! I know why thou and he 
Sought this lonely hour with me, 
Thoughts ye had which none must share, 
Joys which silence makes more fair. 

Lovely lady, graceful bride, 
Floating away with floating tide, 
Thoughts which follow thee, floating, now, 
Meeting eyes of thine, a brow 
From which veiling crape went back 
In our swift and breezy track 
May return to thee, and then 
Memory light will show thee when 
Love's dear choice with me would stay, 
Caring, dreaming not to stray. 
Go, my heart's kiss floats to you. 
Dear one, loving, lovely, true. 

Gentle lady, lovely bride. 
Far away with veering tide. 
Heart that kissed you hear it say, 



FOREST LEAVES. 49 

One there is whose Sovereign sway 
Claims us, voyagers o'er life's tide, 
Claims the chosen by our side. 
Should death's shadowy sail appear, 
Dim the sunlight now so dear, 
May Divinity o'er thee shine, 
Holiest Life with thine entwine ; 
May the arm of Him who saith, 
" I have keys of the grave and death," 
Shield thee still through life's clear even, 
Floating onward to thy heaven. 



A BRIDAL MUSING. 

O FAIREST, best-beloved, dare not dream 
That thou canst be an absolute supply 
Of the soul's craving, or canst hush the cry 

For pure ideals by the softened gleam 

That plays in sweet enchantment full, supreme. 
About thee ; yet, shall love regretful sigh. 
And to some cavern depth of sorrow fly. 

Lost the proud sun, and scorned the moonlight's 
beam? 

Nay, rather love ye truly, friends, and be 

The mutual bond your mutual need of love. 
Wait calmly till life's mystery is wrought 
To clearness, — some new morning each may see 



60 FOREST LEAVES. 

The kind ones who around us daily move, 
Retouched of heaven, are all that fancy sought. 



WEDDED LOVE. 

It is no dream 

Which time dispels, 

Like sounds of bells 
That dying seem, — 

This dual sweet dependence. 

This mystic glad transcendence, 
Earth's heaven-lent gleam. 



GENEVRA'S FRIEND. 

" THE SMILE OF THE SEA." 

The smile of the sea, the smile of the sea, 
Showing how gentle God's greatness can be ! 
Walks He not the sea pavement in splendor to- 
night, 
With diamonds new-covered his footprints of light ? 
Hark, the ripples play softly and musical now, 
'Neath the hush of his hand, and the calm of his 
brow. 

The smile of the sea, the smile of the sea ! 
Such smile on the soul-deeps of being may be ; 




Through sealight and starlight with cleaving prow 
Westward the Parthia is passing now. 



FOREST LEAVES. 61 

Along the hushed billows may diamond light stream, 
Across the lone vastness may starry hopes beam ; 
And the ripples play softly in musical flow 
With the vastness around, and the deepness below. 

Through sealight and starlight onward passed 
The gallant ship ; from the tall white mast 
Scarce wavered a pennon, but rubies of fire 
Fell back in the wavelets to expire. 
Through sealight and moonlight with cleaving 

prow 
Westward the Parthia is passing now. 

I. 

Enthroned in silvery, starry state, 
Where courtier moonbeams kneel and wait, 
Between the sky and gleaming sea, 
Were two rare beings made to be 
Crowned with that night's pure majesty. 
Alike they were, — to poet's dream. 
There in the brightness they might seem 
To be that fabled immortal pair, 
Woman and angel whose love could dare 
To be immortal yet exiled. 
Away from heaven though undefiled. 
Each lip had curves of kindred thought, 
Each eye its light from truth had caught, 
Each full white brow wore its graceful hair 
Alike in hue ; but, softly fair 



62 FOREST LEAVES. 

In loosened rings hers floating lay, 

His carelessly was massed away. 

Alike tliey were tliougli kindred none. 

But in the shadow and the sun 

One year gone by, their ways had crossed. 

Two stranger parties travel-tost 

From the same land, as travelers meet 

Had met, and wandered on, where street 

Or palace, art, or ruin hoar, 

Or aught of mountain, river, shore 

Seemed fair or worthy ; and not strange 

To any, as they pass and change, 

One party's regnant star and pride 

To find in lingering spell beside 

The brightness, the white Lyra ray 

Of all the other. If some stay 

Of cherished hope were turned aside 

From other lives, all knew to hide 

Such truth's unwelcome evidence. 

Unmarred by pain and brightly thence 

Passed by for fair Genevra Hale 

And Maurice Hayne Catesby one 

True, glorious summer, rarely known 

To earth's most favored annals. Vale 

And hill where echo low the wail 

And triumph of past centuries 

Had grown familiar ; and with eyes 

Gentle and studious they looked 

On work of hands to ashes passed,, 



FOREST LEAVES. 63 

Despite the haughty souls that brooked 
No thought more low, than, at the last, 
An immortality. Still, bright, 
As two fair rivers in the light 
Flow in one channel side by side, 
Mingling pure thought-waves, tide with tide, 
Passed they, until to each were known 
Their mutual tastes, each spirit tone. 
Standing before some statue rare, 
Or master's living canvas, where 
With nameless skill were flashing out 
Meanings we worship, such as dart 
With truth and nature through the heart, 
Proving beyond all pause for doubt 
What genius can do, they but raised 
Their meeting eyes, and words that praised 
Were needless. Had Catesby gazed 
Then daringly into those eyes 
Of Psyche-like, sweet witcheries, 
Heard day by day that Psyche tone 
Thrill low and deep, and with his own. 
As favored escort purely may 
To aid where steepness mars the way, 
Touched that fair, womanly white hand. 
Whose grace and beauty did command 
A spirit language pure and bland, — 
Yet heard no whispers such as steal 
Through manly hearts and bid them feel 
Love's gentle presence without spot 
Should lino-er near ? — believe it not. 



64 FOREST LEAVES. 

It was with purpose fixed and true 

Maurice Catesby gently drew 
Genevra to the deck that night, 
And wandered slowly, half in light, 
Half in the awning's twilight shade. 
Till the last loiterer's parting made 
A solitude as true, as fair 
As anchorite would seek for prayer. 

'T was not an hour for thronging words, 
For plan or thought that overgirds 
And reins to use ambition's might 
For battlefields of wrong and right. 
Well had Genevra seen and known 
Maurice Catesby was not one 
Of loiterers vain in foreign lands 
Dropping waste time with idle hands ; 
Some acts to do, some words to speak 
In his land's language and her cause 
To mold her destiny or laws. 
She felt there were, and these not weak ; 
But other thoughts ascend to-night. 
Heart true as stars, soul ocean bright, 
With the approving heaven above. 
His few deep words ask answering love. 

Graceful and pure Genevra's hand 
Lay on his arm, — to close the band 
The other rose as pure, as fair, 



FOREST LEAVES. 55 

And they were clasped in moonlight there, — 

Yet, in her aspect and her eyes, 

Which watched the gleaming ocean far 

In which eve's low descending star 

Must sink while her clear brightness dies, 

A questioning lay. That questioning crossed, — 

Not deeps of pain by passion tossed, 

But the still measurements of thought 

To Him whom earnest minds are taught 

To hold by an unwavering trust 

As the Creative One who must 

Guide where He made, since He is just. 

As sacred things his joy to be 
Maurice enclasped most reverently 
Those clinging hands, and bent to place 
On the sweet, silent, dreamy face 
The pleading kiss of hopefulness 
Which still its hope must half repress j 
But, turning with an earnest grace. 
Yet playfully, she said, " Not so, — 
My Pi'ince, my Maurice, champion knight 
Of all things worthy, good, and bright. 
You need not this my thoughts to know. 
The mountain shepherd's lips may kiss 
His smiling shephei'dess, and this 
Is well to bind their humble vow. 
So peaceful and so light ; but thou 



56 FOREST LEAVES. 

And I, if love indeed be true, 

Must beai' with us a joy which, too, 

Has wounding. Sweet the joy to feel 

The mystery around us steal, — 

The certainty that boldest hearts 

Can smile on vassalage. Departs 

For us the doubt that tortures, now, 

And for all future. I affirm, 

Knowing eternity its term. 

To thee my fealty, — yes, bow 

Thy listening ear — let the words rest 

In memory's tablet full-impressed. 

God's name is first — thine second — both 

Live in my soul as being doth. 

Still, Maurice, still, we will not walk 

Togetlier, as they do who talk 

And breathe of the same air — too near 

To know each other. Souls revere 

That which doth beam apart, afar, — 

Not glorious were the morning star 

Plucked from its home of grandeur. Thou, 

My star, I must not see thee bow 

From thy true place of shining. As 

Thy life uplifts all grandly white. 

Mine shall wear pearls and chrysolite, 

Diamond, and sunlight's pure topaz. 

Thou hast true purposes, — a thought 

For me too rises — more and more 

Takes outlines which must be traced o'er, 



V FOREST LEAVES. 57 

And with all varied hues inwrought 
Of beauty, truth, and gladness. We 
May each in each forever see 
An inspiration, — let this be." 

" Alas, Genevra, can the heart 
Bear this of which you speak ? No art 
Is there the growth to disentwine 
Of tendrils sensitive and fine 
Clasping, entangled, as we own 
Our two loves have together grown. 
No, no ; thine must not be the hand 
To rend, to ruin ; and I stand 
My strength but pain before the thought, 
I have no power to yield thee. Oui'ht 
My summer dream to end but thus ? " 

" No. Maurice, yield me not. For us, — 
Dost thou not see ? the bridal 's past. 
Have I not spoken words none speak 
Even at the altar ? Wouldst thou seek 
For other vows than those thou hast 
Already ? This poor earthly life 
Is but a question of some strife 
Toward noble ends for a brief space 
Of years or days, — then face to face 
We meet transfigured, with no blight 
Of memories to mar our light." 



68 FOREST LEAVES. •* 

Silent Catesby stood, and thought 

Over his fine, still features wrought 

Such magic that Genevra's eye 

Turned not from gazing on the high 

Proud study of that form and face 

Which time no more from memory can displace. 

At last he spoke, and very low 
And strange the utterance, and slow. 

" But from cold marble is the gleam 
Across thy words, no summer beam 
Of love's own tenderness that needs 
An answering love, and daily feeds 
Its life with it. Genevra Hale, 
Must I believe that phantom thing 
Has mocked me which with frantic wail 
Keats tells of, high and glittering 
In all her matchless might to snare 
The heart she saves not from despair ? " 
With changeless brow her hand once more 
He sought, it was so fair, and wore 
On one white finger a rich ring 
Of sapphires, which to fancy bring 
Heaven's blue and truth. But lingering 
To check her voice's trembling throb 
Genevra spoke ; — she would not rob 
A tried heart of its right to know 
Her less than marble, more than snow. 



FOREST LEAVES. 59 

*' Maurice, to thee alone this hand 

Is given. No other shall demand 

Nor touch thy guarded claim, — these tears 

Give answer to distrustful fears. 

Doubt not pain which is mine to speak, 

With heart now grown too sadly weak, 

The words, we part, — we part to-night, 

Nor meet till in eternal light. 

If love is spirit-born, it needs no sigh — 

Must live ; if not, let the false vision fly. 

Thou canst be grand, my Maurice, love 

As souls and God do ; time shall prove 

The moonbeams on thy brow are not more white 

Than love that dares past death triumphant flight." 

Maurice had watched with searching eye 
Her face ; he spoke half haughtily : 

" Be mine, proud girl, in thy own way ; 
I cannot doubt thy truth, — yet stay — 
One moment now — I claim you here 
Close to my heart. A language clear 
It has — of such dread meaning, thou 
Wilt not hold lightly the strange vow 
By which thy troth is surely given 
For life and death, for earth and heaven." 

Faintly but firm Genevra drew 
Back from his circling arm, and grew 



60 FOREST LEAVES. 

Whiter than he though both were pale, — 
What might words spoken then avail ? 
She glided from his side away. 

He stood a statue stern and cold, 
The night-breeze curious and bold 
Whisj)ered in vain, — in morning's gray 
The Parthia at her moorings lay. 
With gathered strength and calmly then 
He passed back to the world of men. 



II. 

GENEVRA'S HOME. 

Enter this library. The gleam 
Is everywhere, the sunlike beam 
Of golden beauty from the rich 
Dark inlaid cases ; and in niche 
Between them glow some gems the knee 
Of artist love must own to be 
Shrine for its worship, — marbles fair 
From Italy, and canvas rare 
And wonderful. A mirror wall 
Beyond doubles the light and all 
The far perspective, its extremes, 
The mirrored and tlie true, each seems 
A fairy-like still garden place. 



FOREST LEAVES. 61 

With avenue and gleaming vase 
Flower-laden ; w^hile beneath the arch 
Of festooned laces where the larch 
Without just meets the lattice vines 
A chair of quaint old carving twines 
Its simulated flowers around 
The cushion where the head reclines 
And delicate and thoughtful face 
Of one, the beautiful. A sound 
Of gurgling water, in soft race 
Of fountain currents, fills the air 
Of evening with low music there. 

The still sweet dreamy eyes, the pearl 

Of forehead, and the chestnut curl, 

The slender nestling hands so fair 

Amid their laces old and rare. 

The gracefulness of robe and form, 

The attitude, itself a charm. 

The nameless something, — spirit tone 

Of a divineness all her own, 

To me restore, and to my tale 

The presence of Genevra Hale. 

Yet twelve full years have passed away, 

Twelve slow-paced years of night and day, 

Years which might bring to others blight 

But dared not touch that brow of light. 



&^ 



Nature is partial, showering oft 
All gifts of sweetness and of grace, 



62 FOREST LEAVES. 

All beauty of the mind and face 

On one her petted favorite ; 

But then the creature is so bright, 

With pride unbraced, with helmet doffed, 

One gift away we would not take, 

But say " 'T is well ! " for love's own sake» 

Changed is the evening into night, — 

Genevra stands beneath the light 

Of the clear lustres which reveal 

A little sadness that will steal 

Up all unbidden from the heart 

Forgetting that it should depart ; 

And — yes — that hand is slight to frailness 

And like wan moonbeams in its paleness, — 

It holds a letter. One short page 

The letter is, yet heritage 

Of diamond or of golden store 

Named in some dear friend's will 

Was ne'er so tenderly scanned o'er, 

With tears so bright and still. 

'T was gently on the marble laid 

Where the warm light most clearly played ; 

And with a slow and thoughtful pace, 

Dear memories brightening in her face, 

Genevra crossed the tufted floor, 

Turned and passed gently as before, 

Till starting with some quickened thought, 

A white leaf from her desk was brought, 



FOREST LEAVES. 63 

And, kneeling on a footstool near 
The table, gleaming, white, and clear, 
She by the letter traced its mate. 
Or that which seemed a duplicate ; 
Yet thus one read — the other should 
Have been its answer. If we could 
Throw all the lights and shades of thought 
Into some language newly taught, 
It were not vain to lift a pen 
Or hope to mold the form again 
Of inmost beauty. None may deem 
He can read clearly things that seem 
Most clearly written, — there is still, 
Unwritten, truer, that whose will 
No word-shaped utterance can fulfil. 



MAURICE TO GENEVRA. 

I CALL thee mine, Genevra, and each year 
Lived in a world where living still art thou. 
Lived with but memory light from thy pure 
brow, — ■ 

Each year with scars of conflict, scorning fear, 

A pale-lipped messenger, now calls thee near. 
Shall they all vainly plead, and whisper how 
With silenced pride to thee I bade them bow. 

Nor shunned my vassalage to one so dear ? 



64 FOREST LEAVES. 

Is not my life-work rounded to thy will ? 
Have not my days, my nights, been toiling spent ? 

Couldst thou smile on my task, upclimbing still ? 
Nay, after toil a kind rest should be lent. 

My weary way grows dim with gathering mist, — 
Oh, end this exile, sweet transcendentalist ! 



GENEVRA TO MAURICE. 

Thou dost remember, Maurice, that one night. 
Most lovely that we ever saw, or dreamed. 
When stars above us and below us beamed. 

Yet more than theirs, and clearer was our light, — 

All else lost in a splendor passing sight. 
That nisfht of ocean stillness was redeemed 
From earth and dust, and with hoi3es over- 
gleamed 

Clear in my breast as they were then, as white. 

Yes, eagle, yes, thou hast soared proudly. I 
From the low valley watched thy upward way 
Forgetting that my wings all idly lay, — 

I '11 plume them — gain thee yet — heaven grant I 

may ! 

If love is spirit-horn, it needs no sigh — 
Must live ; if not, let the false vision fly. 



FOREST LEAVES. 65 

On every breeze had passed the name 

Dearer than all its growing fame, 

While to Genevra ever came 

Assurance full and blest that he 

His own unsoiled nobility 

Through every step had upward borne 

Where sometimes " honor bright " grows worn. 

And now again, and yet again 

Rang out the clangor far and vain 

Of popular applause for him 

The eloquent young senator 

Who asks no honors, will not dim 

His clear soul with a falsehood, nor 

His eye's true vision with gold dust ; 

But holds by virtue right to hold men's trust ; 

" And in the future cannot lie 

One honored place for him too high." 

'T was thus the people said, — but knew 

No one that while the echoes grew 

Fuller and vaster, he they praised 

Was dying. A slow consciousness 

Had stolen to his breast, and raised 

Its voice till reason must confess 

The sentence clear, death's fingers wait 

Amidst the heart-strings — near is fate. 

He heeded not the voice of fame 

Far trumpeting, but questioning came, — 

" Will she I love pause here and lay 



66 FOREST LEAVES. 

Her hand on my cold forehead ? Nay, 
I could not die, though wrapped in dust, 
Were she beside me, — her firm trust 
In endless good and purpose high 
Would find the rays which glorify." 

Those few words for Genevra's reading, 
A tender and an earnest pleading, 
Had thus been written, but not all 
The truth that wrapped him as a pall. 
To touch of pity, surest art 
Holding in sway a woman's heart, 
He would not owe her presence dear 
Which love won not to linger near. 

She read the sonnet with a pain 
Which, banished, would be felt again ; 
And though her answer had been traced 
With shades of sadness all erased. 
She rose her slow walk to renew 
In thoughtful mood which ever grew 
More and more troubled, and a doubt 
She could not imderstand nor name 
Sternly within her soul flashed out, 
A something of contempt and blame. 
Was it but selfishness controlled 
The motives held as purest gold ? 
Had she dared mar the life of one 
To her as to the heavens the sun 



FOREST LEAVES 67 

By the poor vanity forever 

At height to seal the truth of love and lover ? 

Or, now did madness seize her thought, 

Some folly steal the mind which ought 

One fixed calm purpose to pursue 

Life's given work to firmly do ? 

With light touch of a silver bell. 

Scarce heard, so soft the summons feU, 

A woman came — not old — but grave, 

And by one glance you knew her brave 

And wise and kindly. Gently passed 

As if to one with deference met, 

Genevra said, "It is the last, 

The midnight hour, dear Margaret ; 

If you are weary I will let 

That I would say pass till to-morrow, — 

'T is something which may give you sorrow." 

" Thy words cannot, my mistress dear, 
Too late nor early be to hear 
If hearing them can serve thee well — 
Speak that even now thou hast to tell." 

*' Call me not mistress ; thou art friend. 
My mother's choice to still attend 
Her orphaned daughter's earthly way, — 
Now, dost thou love her wishes, say, 
So well that thou wilt willing learn 



68 FOREST LEAVES. 

To love — there may be no return — 

A foreign home ? This quiet grace 

Of dreamy luxury I must change. 

Some sight of rugged mountain range, 

Some foreign wandering would displace 

A dullness, which I greatly fear 

Grows indolence, or very near 

The same. Henceforth my life to give — 

Not only take — thus truly live — 

I would devote. Lake Leman, grand 

Bright lake, and Alp-crowned Switzerland 

With these my soul may utterance dare — 

My father breathed that altar-air, 

Mother and Maurice too were there. 

Soon shall I rise o'er doubt and fear. 

Win back my childhood's vision clear, — 

See nature as God's radiant throne, — 

Hear a deep voice and bless its tone 

In whispers of the evening breeze, 

In rippling joy of summer seas. 

In solemn hush of starry night 

Brooding aboA'e the awful height 

Of Alp or Jura I shall hear 

A voice of hope, the strong, the clear, — 

And joy, sublimely true as great. 

Shall open still the half -closed pearly gate. 

" I go, and soon, what dost thou say ? 
Come, come with me, my Margaret, pray ! ' 



FOREST LEAVES. 69 

" Thine is my service, hold it true, — 
It is the work I have to do." 



*' Thanks, Margaret ! Now all is bright — 
We sail by the White Star. Good-night." 



TO MAURICE. 

O PRICELESS friend afar, if thou hast thought 
I have been wise and calm in loving thee. 
It is that thou the pale face didst not see 

A mirror showed me when my ear half caught 

Thy coming footsteps, or but feigned it ought 
To hear them. Can I tell why this should be ? 
Explain the pallid fear, — the ecstasy 

Of love, which may to pain be overwrought ? 

As on some dizzy height I seem to stand 

With splendor all around me, — while a tone, 
A look, a thought, a breath, may break the wand 
Of my enchantment, — and my fate command 
A swift descent from the empyreal throne 
Which now I proudly claim, through thee, my 
own. 



TO FOREST LEAVES. 

m. 
AT SEA. 

Two travelers from the highest deck 

Of a vast ocean palace gazed 

On a strange pageantry upraised 

Of sunset clouds, that wildly wreck 

Their arch of dread magnificence 

With ceaseless, towering changes ; whence 

Unfold stern forms of ruggedness, 

Crags of aei-ial steeps which dress 

Their peaks, torn sides, and restless edges 

With earthlike, tawny gold, while ledges 

As of some waiting avalanche 

Lean menacingly forward, yet 

Are glowing with dusk splendors met 

Around their awfulness. " Most stanch 

And brave, dear ladies, must ye be — 

To-night some turbulence of sea 

May come ; some days of rocking blast 

May follow, — such our ship has passed.'* 

It was the captain standing near 

With lifted hat and naught of fear. 

Again he spoke. " This letter brought 

And left in the last hour before 

We sailed, by light-boat from the shore, 

I render to the person sought." 



FOREST LEAVES. 71 



THE LETTER. 



When my bright lady reads these words of mine 
The hand that writes them will be coffined, all 
Be hushed between us while death's curtains fall. 
Shall those dark curtains rise ? and crystalline 
Far dreams for which our restless wishes i)ine 
With a deep-piercing splendor break our thrall. 
Leading the way to their clear opal hall, 
And joys no mockery our souls enshrine ? 
Ah ! shall those curtains rise ? revealing life 
A calm majestic real, a new birth 
Of being ? or, shall end the fruitless strife, 
Lost to our severed love both heaven and earth? 

Her voice speaks not the answer, yet I trust 
We wake transfigured from the envious dust. 

Rise, rise, wild waters of the deep ! 
Ye would but mock in placid sleep 
The thoughts that, spurning all control. 
Barriers of slow-built strength o'erroU ; 
Nor find below, around, above 
Nor anywhere but pain of love, — 
Fearful and lost yet precious thing — 
Fearful in joy, in torturing ! 

Genevra turned and leaned to rest 

Both arms on the stern guard, and pressed 



72 FOREST LEAVES. 

Her face down there, the fixed eyes staring 

With a strange, hungry look despairing 

Far in the cold, green, heedless waves, 

As wondering if below the caves 

Are deep enough to bury thought, 

Or if the ocean's pall is wrought 

So well that it can hide the brain 

From frenzy. All too vain, too vain 

Thy cruel trust, O Maurice, in 

The calm, still strength love could not win 

To change its purpose ! May it be 

That letter was but musingly 

Traced out in some unresting hour 

Nor meant to wield such crushing power ; 

But found by stranger hands, was sealed 

To tell a truth no more to be concealed ? 



SONNET OF PRAYER. 

Being of beings, thou whose sovereign name 
We speak not, lest the all-unmeasured thought 
Be mocked even by our reverence — Oh ! 
Sought, 

Wilt Thou be found ? Shall pinions wounded, lame 

And trembling, fold in peace beneath the flame 
Of thy great glory ? Yes, my life has caught 
Some bright rays that consumed not, but were 
fraught 

With love and benediction. One, the same, 



FOREST LEAVES. 73 

Thou ever art, to me tlie same, — oh ! be. 

Give me no blessing which Thou dost not bless ; 
Give me no treasure Thou hast not made dear, 

Give me no love that is not loved of Thee, — 

That wears not an unsullied loveliness 
Which welcomed in thy presence may appear. 



THE KEFINER'S FIRE. 

Oh, aching heart, be humble, — they are near 
The solemn altar, and the pallid urn, — 
The one with unextinguished flame to burn 

Through all earth-dross till thou art spirit clear, — • 

The other where, like autumn leaves grown sere, 
Proud joys have vanished that no more return 
From night and silence. Wayward heart, now 
learn 

In lowly watchfulness and sacred fear, 

And searching might of the keen altar-fire 

Life's meaning. In thy agony be strong ; 
For is not this thine own, thy true desire, — 

The pain, the hallowing, asked and waited long 
That thy pure love a diamond blaze may be 
For the grand brow that knew Gethsemane ? 



Who ever lived, nor learned to know 
His mark of birth, or soon, or late, 



74 FOREST LEAVES. 

The shunless lineage stamp of fate, 
The blazoned and escutcheoned sign 
Of a long-drawn ancestral line, — 
The monogram of woe ? 



SHADOWS AND LIGHT. 

I LOOKED on a fading landscape 

When its beauty all had fled, 
When " the red leaves' bright mosaic " 

Crushed brown beneath my tread. 

I watched a sunset splendor, — 

A gorgeous palace it seemed. 
Which changed to didl, cold storm-cloud. 

Where curtains of crimson had streamed. 

I saw a glorious woman, — 

Once fairer than morning light ; 

But the blight of time had reached her, — 
She turned, and shunned my sight. 

1 marked the mournful meaning 
Of her eye to thought still true, 

And I knew that the inner blighting 
Was more than eyes might view. 

I sighed, " O Father in heaven, — 
If thy wisdom had seen it so, 



FOREST LEAVES. 75 

Better swift, than this weary dying, 
Surrendered to living; woe ! " 



Night came, and a grand old minster, 

With cloisters shaded and still, 
The moonlight asleep on the pavement, 

I entered, and felt a slow thrill 

As of music afar and enchanting, 

Whose charm all the spirit compels, — 

Not a word, not a breath stirs the silence, 
Yet around the deep harmony swells. 

The worn woman lowly v/as kneeling 

With slender pale hands clasped in prayer, 

While something — a heaven-wove mantle, 
Lay o'er her transcendently fair. 

Let autumn leaves fade as they wither, 
Let night sunset's crimson infold, — 

O Spirit undying within us. 

Thou findest the sunset of gold ! 



« LORD, THAT OUR EYES MAY BE OPENED." 

We are pleading, ever pleading, 
Jesus, now, all else unheeding, 
Prisoned hearts within us bleeding — 
Open, Lord, our eyes ! 



76 FOREST LEAVES. 

Weary of our wayside blindness, 
Coming in our groping blindness, 
To thy heart of pitying kindness, — 
Open, Lord, our eyes ! 

Notes of joy are softly pealing, 
Thoughts of beauty o'er us stealing ; 
All our hope to Thee is kneeling, 
Open, Lord, our eyes ! 



THE SPIRIT MOST WORTHY HIS CARE. 
"a dream not all a dream." 

Slow winged the calm gracious-browed angel, 

His errand was easy and fair, — 
Just to bring from the low-lying city 

The spirit most worthy his care. 

Warmly bright glowed the windows of churches. 
White pinions furled close at their doors, — 

Unseen and unguessed, the still angel 
Passed over the tufted floors. 

He heard many words, boldl}- spoken. 

Of faith, consecration, and love ; 
Golden gifts were proclaimed for the altars, 

Some talked of a treasure above. 



FOREST LEAVES. 77 

The phylacteries widely were showing, 
The Pharisee smiled on his own, — 

White hands stole out from the ermine, 
And silken robes softly shone. 

Deep-veiled was the face of the angel — 

No anger but sorrow he knew — 
As away to a dim-lighted chamber 

Unseen and unguessed he withdrew. 

There he bent o'er a suffering woman 

Whose racked thoughts in reverence bow, — 
" I'm weary — so weary — oh, Jesus, 
O blessed Christ, help me now ! 

" The children, poor darlings ! are better — 
Charlie, and Frank, and Louise, 
And Carrie the dear little orphan 

Who lay on the cold stones to freeze. 

" They are better I know, for I held them 
Each one as the fever burned on, — 
They are saved, they are well, gracious heaven ! 
All well, and the pestilence gone. 

" Now — yes, I will rest just a little — 
No, hark — let me go, for I see 
Another all parched with the fever — 
Another they 're bringing to me ! 



78 FOREST LEAVES. 

" Whose head is this throbbing so wildly ? 

Whose eyes that now fade from the light ? '^ 
The angel flashed out all resplendent, 
And darkness was banished that night. 

Calm folded by white wings celestial 

That gently and safely bear, 
Mounts away with the deep-loving angel 

The spirit most worthy his care. 



LIFT UP THY LAMP. 

Lift up thy lamp. Ask not if other light 

Shines clearer, farther o'er the storm-lashed sea 
Where freighted barks toss on in wildering night 

And the safe waters of their haven flee. 

What though abroad the night-winds chilling be ? 
Soon shall an icier cold around thee steal, 
And thou, when sounds the death-hour's solemn 
peal 

Mayest mourn unfinished work with fruitless 
plea. 

Lift up thy lamp along life's wilderness, — 
A world-forgotten, way-worn wanderer there 

Sinks faintly down at last beneath the press 
Of woes to strive no more against despair. 

Lift up thy lamp, — its pale and quivering ray 

May guide one soul out from a darkening way. 



FOREST LEAVES. 79 



LIGHT-CROWNED. 



Fkom bases black and dread, 
From crags all rent and wild 

The mountain lifts its head 
Sovereign, benignant, mild. 

Our life may be uplift 
From caverns of despair. 

And, cragged by sorrow's rift 
A crown-light still may wear. 



THKEE : OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 



A JUNE MORNING. 

Beautiful earth in thy robe of beams, 
Girdled and sparkling with silver streams, 
Wreathed and jeweled and crowned to-day, 
Fair empress, we praise thee, accept the lay. 
Glad vivas are sounding from forest and vale. 
The rose brings thee fragrance, low music the gale. 

The old mountains smile in their grandeur of rest. 
And the sea far away like a joy-heaving breast 
Throbs back a deep murmur of grateful replies 
To the love that is beaming from halcyon skies. 
All beauty seems perfect, all hearts are in tune. 
This morning, rare morning of life-breathing June. 

Beautiful earth ! which God rules o'er, — 
Beautiful heaven ! where thought will soar 
Through smiling dream-lands, which often grow 
To clearer vistas where hope-lights glow, — 
Beautiful love ! which is but He, 
Brightness of heaven, and earth, and sea ! 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 81 



I. 



With musical and lulling sound 

Lake Leman's waves lapsed in around 

White pebbles and a rocky stair, — 

One of twelve more that, rounding fair, 

Rose to the highest, which spread wide 

Its marble, bearing from each side 

Two giant vase-like forms. Around them 

Soft summer greenery waved, and crowned them. 

Across a terrace pavement stood 

An ancient tower in bowering wood 

Of elm and larch trees. Often came 

Forth from its portal deep the same 

Pale lovely lady for her still 

And musing walk behind the grille 

Of the o'erhanging terrace. Days 

Of rarest charm and southland rays 

She passed down through the pleasant ward 

Of vine-hung vases which kept guard 

In sportive livery of a hold 

That treasures naught but memories old. 

Genevra stands upon the stair 
In the clear June's delicious air, 



82 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

And the pure face seems very fair, 
And calm and trustful ; but a cloud 
Of mourning crape tells of the proud 
And hermit thoughts, a shadowy ring. 
That close around her spirit's weary wing. 

The oars in grasp of two brown hands 
Of a slight sunbrowned boy, with large, 
Black, wistful eyes, a tiny barge 
'Neath festooned awning floats away 
Through sunbeams on the rippling play 
Of waters. Bright above all lands 
Art thou, Helvetia, — made sublime 
With beauty. Ancient Chillon stands 
And to the heart ail-vainly sjseaks 
Of sorrow, while the glad eye seeks 
Afar, around, and riots still 
In perf ectness, — nor asks that time 
Reveal another, newer clime 
Its restless craving quest to fill. 

There was a room in the old tower 
Made beautiful by all the power 
Of Margaret's untiring love,* 
Whose care all other care above 
Was this, that her dear lady know 
No shadow on life's summer glow, 

* Pages 67, 68. 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 83 

No slightest dream of wish unmet, 

No thought to seem as a regret. 

While chiding the bewildered hour 

That brought them to the strange old tower, 

With crimson drapery and lace 

She veiled the walls in dainty grace ; 

And, triple carpets covered o'er 

The rudeness of the cold stone floor. 

Beneath a window far embayed 

Where least the deep roof dropped its shade, 

Stood a round table ; and a pile 

Of even sheets, all neatly paged. 

Written one side, and in a style 

Peculiar but distinctly fair. 

And all reversed from sight, lay there. 

One little paper disengaged 

Was swept as the light breezes move 

To fall, the written side above ; 

And Margaret, who sat and wrought 

Her netting, saw and quickly caught 

Some words of troubled meaning. Long 

Within her thought had hid away. 

Hushed from all utterance day by day, 

Unwelcome fears, the spectre throng 

Haunting in all the silence still 

Despite her utmost wish and will. 

In vain she mused, " It cannot be — 

My lady 's well — can I not see ? — 



84 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

Never so calm, so blest, so white, — 

What Power could choose sucli life to blight ? 

And yet, and yet, her eye 's too bright, 

Her cheek too beautiful and pure, — 

Oh life, thou shouldst as love endui-e ! 

*' 'T is said that love is false and vain, 
Light, fickle as the wandering breeze 
That flies across the inconstant seas. 
Falsest of all false dreams that pain 
The soul which trusts their mockery. 
Why lives it then though heard no more 
Are voices loved, — when from before. 
Behind, around, wakens no tone 
To say the vanished are not gone ? 
Why lives it still when lip and eye 
And whitest form we treasured so 
Lie faded dust 'neath winter's snow? 
Yes, I must weep, but will not sigh 
For her, the loved of eai*th and heaven — 
Oh, I must weep and ask not why ! 
All, all I dread, is written here. 
She feels the truth as I the fear. 
Something of a sweet sorrow, more 
Of an upwelling and exhaustless store 
Of living gladness she has given 
In these dear lines — alas, how riven 
From hope and faith — I only see 
The future veiled all gloomily ! " 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 85 

Fast and unchecked the large tears swell, 
On the white leaf they blistering fell 
As Margaret bent down her head 
Upon the paper in a dread 
Abandonment, — as they can grieve 
Who seldom weep — they who bereave 
From pain the right to be expressed. 

A light hand touched her silvered hair, 
A loved low voice her ear addressed : 
" Knows my dear Margaret how fair 
This day has been, how soothing still, 
How gladly peaceful ? Never will, 
I think, the Alps look out again 
With such clear outline, and attain 
Such heaven-lit beauty, — and the air 
Was like a sacred kiss, — oh ! dare 
Be happy this triumphant day 
Of God, in wondrous nature, . . . Nay, 
My foolish sonnet thou hast read 
Which farther than it ought has led 
Thy kindly fears. To talk erewhile 
I wish of all the future, but beguile 
To-day sweet fancies. Let me try 
These few words, whispered truthfully. 
By your true ear, that I may know 
If they hold rhythm with an}-- thought, 
If one deep cadence has been caught 
Of meaning which through life must flow." 



86 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 



"GOD IS LOVE." 

Great God, I knew thy charm, 
Felt thy caressing arm 
Along my childhood ways ; 
And sweet thoughts calm and coy 
Uplifted into joy, 
Grew bright as heaven beneath thy spirit rays. 

Thy voice I, listening, heard 
While the old forest stirred 
And gladdened to thy might, — 
While mellow thunders spoke, 
And reverent silence woke 
To echoing music with responsive night. 

Great God, the guileless heart 
Fears not thy face, — Thou art ! 
Thou art ! Oh ! seal us j)ure, — 
Give childhood's blessing still, — 
Thy wondrous vows fulfil, 
Thy words of troth and truth, divine and sure. 

" There, on the cushions, I will talk, — 
Nay, Margaret, aid me not to walk." 

*' I still am here, — but when I go 
Dear Margaret, you alone must know 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 87 

Mercy's sweet care. All that I find 
Except some legacies, declined 
Wliere none do need them, I have mind 
To leave with you. Once more I say, 
Care for the orphans ; nor forget 
Our strange boy Marcus, — is that way, 
That look of yours, good Margaret, 
A half formed frown whene'er his name 
I speak? I know his genius towers 
Not yet o'er question ; but no blame 
Is his if I misjudge his powers 
And still advise a waste of hours 
Within the studio. Slow toil 
Is that of the great artist. Foil, 
Sometimes, the spirit's fervid dreams 
The colder hand ; but worthy themes 
May yet call forth some effort high 
A master's touch inspiredly. 
Aid Marcus well. If you had seen 
The deep light come into his eyes 
To-day, — the still thought- splendor rise 
O'er all his features, while between 
The green cliff shades, with pausing oar. 
We gazed along the matchless shore 
And up to the great mountains, — oh ! 
You never would again be slow 
To own that wondrous meaning dwells. 
Of which his life yet faintly tells 
Behind those eyes' deep blackness." 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

"He 
Is not a chosen one by me," 
Said Margaret, " yet do I trust 
I can and will to him be just. 
There is a canvas in the room 
Where Marcus stays, but, in the gloom 
And shadows that delight him, none 
Could see its merits, — and, beside, 
'T is turned against the wall. Alone 
I hardly could uplift the wide 
High frame. When it came here, and how, 
Me knows — shall I go call Jmii f — now ? " 

*' Wait still. I never yet have known 
You, Margaret, a choice to own 
But you a reason wise could give. 
Severe you never are, till live 
The faults to make you so, therefore 
That which you know conceal no more. 
Why strangely you so often use 
Unneeded accents help me muse." 

*' Genevra, child, try now to bear 
My folly while I must declare 
Myself I fail to justify. 
The truth is this, I ever fly 
From things which are not as they seem ; 
Therefore the poet's lovely dream 
I name a dream ; and when I look 
Upon the painted side of brown 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 89 

Coarse canvas, — from a silent nook 

Of — is it scorn ? I see deep clown 

Through it to empty nothing. If, 

Your Marcus Marcus is, — 't is well, 

Albeit his vain thoughts should swell 

Beyond his measure, to a cliff 

From which he soon would tumble ; but, 

If that same name of Marcus cut 

All truth with falsehood, until read 

Another way ; and if, new led, 

We add some seven years more of age, 

Than he has claimed, for your dark page, — 

Nothing were left but this, to call 

Him Marcia and a cheat. Here 's all 

I wish to say." ..." Speak, Margaret, 

Speak still, — are given no reasons yet, 

Only suspicions, — tell their cause 

It is required by truth's plain laws." 

" Well, when you came, weary and weak, 
From Florence, and the winds were bleak 
Across the Jura in late spring, 
Please to remember that you stayed 
At fair Vevey, I hastening 
To build some fires that the cold shade 
Of the old tower might soften, by 
Their warmth. And also I would try 
To let some southern sunshine in 
Before your coming. Having passed 



90 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

On through the vineyards, thus to win 

My purpose, much fatigued at last 

I crept slowly and silently 

Up from the postern door to see 

How seemed the air in that droll place 

Hung like a bird's-nest from the wall — 

Half up — half down — that I must call 

Your dressing-room. Turning my face, 

By chance I looked down through the small 

And pretty arch, yonder where fall 

The draperies ; and, trust these eyes, 

I saw, sitting exactly there, 

And in that very crimson chair, 

A princess-like proud lady. Wise 

She looked as beautiful ; but gazed 

With eyes I would she ne'er had raised 

Down on the floor most thoughtfully. 

Her rich robe I could plainly see 

Piled by her dainty-slippered feet ; 

And on her brow were jewels meet 

For a king's wearing. On her breast 

Flashed out an ancient stomacher 

Of great pure diamonds. Shall the rest 

Be told ? " " Yes, all you know of her." 

*' She rose, and stood in stately height 
Before this mirror ; but no flight 
Of vain thoughts passed across her face, — 
Troubled despite her lofty grace. 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 91 

I noted a bright wealth of curl 
Piled high to, softly mingling, twirl 
Among the jewels of her brow, 
And soon — I see it clearly now — 
That upward glance of mirrored eyes, 
Black, black, and fixed as by surprise, 
Which Marcus, Marcus all revealed. 
Yes, Marcus, with a cheek as fair 
Almost as yours, was standing there, 
The thing he is to me unsealed. 
I loved him not, yet well could trace 
In all his ways and in his face 
A gentle culture. Humble place 
And lowly deferential grace 
Were feigned so well it proved the same 
From others he knew how to claim." 

" What next was done ? " 

" I half forget — 
Shame not your silly Margaret 
Whose brain, bewildered swam with thought 
Of pleasure far too dearly bought 
By dwelling in a robber's hold, 
As helpless victims helpless sold 
To murder and a nameless grave 
In our strange home this side the wave ; 
And all by this pretended boy 
Who in his holiday may toy 
With some chief criminal's base wealth 
Whom he can ably serve by stealth. 



92 THREE: OR, GENEVRA\S TOWER. 

When reasoning came for your defense, 

A plan by which to extricate 

You from all danger ere too late, 

My lady of magnificence 

Was gone. I did not hear her stir, 

And now in truth I must aver 

I know not when nor how she went ; 

For I most foolislily had bent 

My head too low in trembling fears, — 

Such weakness comes with coming years." 

" It was, I think, no human form," 
Genevra said, " with currents warm 
Of youthful blood, — quiet she seemed, 
You said, as if she only dreamed 
The past. There may be mysteries cold 
Which we need not be overbold 
To know, nor questioning seek, — 
I would not this with us should speak." 

" Nay, my Genevra, I must smile 
If you with ghost-thoughts would beguile 
Your clearer judgment. Let me say 
Once more, 't was Marcus, not a fay 
Nor wandering thing from other years 
Revisiting its home of tears. 
I say that she was Marcus, who, — 
Listen, this very moment, too, — 
Passes across the landing, high 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 93 

Above the postern stairs, which try 
His claim to ghostship and deny- 
That he, intangible, can move 
Without a sound so far above 
The safe and lowly common sod 
Where mortal feet have ever trod. 
To satisfy your latest doubt. 
When you have dined, I '11 bring about 
His coming here, — he is not slow 
To do your pleasure — shall he show 
To you the picture ? If you ask 
Of him — a not too pleasant task — 
Some questions, he will answer true, — 
None ever speak false words to you." 

Upon an inlaid table fair 

Soon had been placed with dainty care 

A neat small service silver-bright. 

But brief was the repast and light. 

The tempting viands borne away, 

Margaret came once more to say, 

" At three o'clock young Marcus will, 

If this your pleasure shall fulfil. 

Bring in the painting. His desire 

I speak that your eyes shall retire 

From his poor canvas till so placed 

That any merits may be traced 

In their best light. This, he assures, 

Some pleasure in the work secures." 



94 THREE; OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

Genevra turned with quiet smile 

Her crimson chair to rest awhile 

Beside a long low window, whei'e 

The soft and southward sunlit air 

Waved the light leaf-boughs oft aside, 

As dreamily to show, then hide 

The azure waters, and the light 

Of passing sails against the far 

Empurpled mountains. Moments are 

When life, however darkly wrought, 

Becomes ail-strangely overfraught 

With something which we name again, 

Despite long doubt, and dread, and pain. 

That coldly mock, sweet happiness. 

Dreams of the beautiful, excess 

Of a glad consciousness that we 

Have been, or, yet shall sometime be, 

All we can wish, will brightly steal 

Like truth around and make us feel 

Life-sovereignty. Thus memory 

And thought — those tides of being's sea — 

Were swelling, filling the hushed soul 

Of calm Genevra, and o'erroU 

All sorrow. Each white distant sail 

Seems like the welcome wing of peace 

Hovering above some mind's release 

To try a new, blest being, — each 

May tell of gathered friends, and teach 

That proud and prosperous hours must fail 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 95 

Of their full rapture if unshared 
By truest hearts who for us cared. 

The trembling voice of Marcus spoke 
Beside her ear, and quickly woke 
Genevra from her re very, — 
Yet he is gone. She can but see 
A packet placed low at her feet, 
And hear an earnest tone entreat. 

" Please you, dear lady, to bid stay 
Without even Margaret, while you say 
I have dared far with hope to please 
His love's elected." 

To her knees. 
Even as she might a pleading child, 
Genevra took the packet, — and, smooth-filed 
Beneath an ebony casket, found 
Some papers which from all around 
Claimed in abandonment her thought. 

A pallor with deep sadness fraught 
Stole to her features, and, as fail 
The last slant sunbeams from the pale 
Cold mountain tops, and in the room 
A shadow crept like coming doom, — 
Yet only twilight, she let fall 
The papers, rose, lifted her all 
Of hands and heart and streaming eyes 



96 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

Up to the slowly-darkening skies, — 

Then moved as if she knew not why, 

Without a sound, without a sigh 

Across the floor. . . . Quick her eye's light 

Had kindled, fixed, unearthly bright 

With rapturous proud joy ; yet, low 

As buried waters weirdly flow. 

She murmured, " He is come, is come. 

Maurice, my noble, my heart's home, 

I have been cruel, selfish, base, — 

Forgive it all, — have I not grieved 

For your dear presence ? Oh ! believed 

I must be. None of all my race 

Has ever worn black falsehood's mark, — 

Stay, Maurice, stay — ha, light is dark ! " 

Not all the papers had been read, 

Her soul was dim with doubt and dread ; 

She knew not that a matchless art 

Had shaped, though vainly for her heart, 

A form all wondrous, lofty, pure. 

Calm as a god no charm can lure. 

She had stretched forth her pale fair hands 

With pleading tenderness in vain 

To a mere picture, but so plain. 

So full the whole resemblance stands 

She dreams, bewildered, it is he. 

The lost one loved so loyally. 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 97 

" Stay, Maurice, stay ! " A torture cold 

Grasped all her frame, a pain ne'er told, 

The agony with which, estranged. 

The crushed heart shrinks from love now changed. 

A few faint backward steps were taken. 

Yielded the strength too deeply shaken, 

She sank down slowly on the floor 

Silent and white, and felt no more. 

When Marcus passed so soon away 

And asked Genevra to betray 

His work to her own thought alone, 

He spoke in humble soothing tone 

To Margaret, who waited still 

Within an anteroom the will 

Which might be spoken. " You were right,'* 

He said, " not erring was your sight, 

Good Margaret. My idle play 

Was truth. I, seen by you that day, 

Was my true self ; and in one hour 

I go and leave the dear old tower 

Where it was blest to linger. Peace 

Is yours at last, and full release 

From my unwelcome presence. You 

Have borne with patience still and true 

My vexing, — would you aid me well 

But once to change this deep-blue shell 

Of feigning for my traveling dress ? " 



98 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

With smiling and smooth gracefulness 

Was raised the blue cloth cap to show, — 

Poor captives held by cruel foe, — 

The crushed and shining curls. " To know," 

Most gravely Margaret said, " I '11 go, 

That when a fitting garb you wear 

A woman's virtue will be there." 

*' Fear not, wise Margaret, I am one 
You will not in the future own 
With blushing cheek that you have served. 
Wild, and too willful I may be, 
But not yourself would sooner flee 
Than I one action which has swerved 
From honor true and lovely. Come, 
Hasten me now to seek my home." 
And Margaret went, with her own hands 
Smoothed out the moist curls' silken bands, 
And saw them dry in tendrils meet 
Over white shoulders smooth and sweet ; 
She saw the brown cheeks fade away 
To fair ones with a brilliant play 
Of rose-like beauty on them, and, 
As deftly she the soft lace band 
Fastened beneath the dimpled chin, 
Tears, gushed the sober eyes within ; 
And, kissing the bright youthful face. 
She asked in silence that Heaven's grace 
Might guard and bless the parting one, — 
That in her life God's will be done. 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 99 

Not falsely wandered Margaret's thought, 

But, listening oft, she almost caught 

Sound of the light and silver bell 

Which gently to her ear could tell 

Its quiet message. Evening fell, 

And yet she vainly paused to hear 

One sound to check her rising fear. 

She sought the dressing-room, and there 

Walked back and forth in restless care 

Till she no more could try to bear 

Her troubled thought, — but drew aside 

The curtain that no more must hide 

Fi-om her pained eyes the drooping form 

Of her dear lady. . . . Utmost skill 

Hour after hour was fruitless still 

To fix the steady pulses warm ; 

But half the reeling senses waken, 

While thought the new pained form has taken. 

Wildly Genevra grasped the hand 

That soothed her forehead to demand, 

" Say, did he spurn me, did he come 

And shut my heart out from its home ? 

Yet I was true, true as the stars, 

The night, the morning, and the sun, — 

My soul was wedded. Are these bars 

Iron, and cold, and dark, that run 

Between my noble one and me ? 

I 'm dead or prisoned — Margaret, see! " 



100 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

And Margaret gave an opiate, 

Hushed her own tortured heart to wait 

In seeming calm. Of all fair things 

She gently talked, — low murmurings 

Of summer waves along the shore 

Or merry laugh of plashing oar, — 

Talked of Genevra's mother and the days 

Of happy youth, of wildwood ways 

Green with their ferns and dewy mosses, 

And of the fragrant wind that tosses 

Light, whispering leaves, — the eyes soft closed 

And the pale brow in sleep reposed. 

Then Margaret rose, and quickly drew 

Some draperies down to hide from view 

The picture, — saw and gathered all 

The scattered leaves up from the floor, 

And murmured as she glanced them o'er, 

This is one mischief more let fall 

By ill-starred Marcus. I must read 

That which is written here, and heed 

To counteract the mocking spite 

That thrusts Genevra from the light 

To darkness, and I deeply fear 

Past hope of any earthly cheer." 

Who ever lived, nor learned to know 
His mark of birth, or soon, or late, 
The shunless lineage stamp of fate, 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 101 

The blazoned and escutcheoned sign 
Of a long-drawn ancestral line, — 

The monogram of woe ? 
Poor Margaret turned with troubled sigh 
And by a shaded lamp slow read 
That which the pillowed drooping head 
Still traced in dreams confusedly. 

II. 

OCTAVIA TO GENEVRA. 

LADY of the spotless brow, 

1 lingered near thee, and I bow 
My heart to thy sweet sovereignty; 
And wonder never more that he 

Prince Maurice, — well I name him so, — 

Seemed not to think nor see nor know 

That others could be fair or bright 

While dwelling in the memory light 

Of one like thee, though far away, — 

Whose spirit's ever brightening ray 

Shines through a form that is not common clay. 

Thy being's medium, starry clear, 
Undimmed by doubt, or grief, or fear, 
Hides not the vast and gracious plan 
Which holds the universe and man 
Safely beneath one sovereign eye. 
To thee a Father's. . . . With a sisrh 



102 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

I look, and, all-distorted pass 

Dread images across life's glass, 

Sullen, and scorned, and tortured. Why — 

I would not, yet must ever ask. 

Conning an old, a fruitless task, — 

Why, if our being's Lord so high 

Is both omnipotent and good. 

Why have the Moloch altars stood 

Through all the ages ? blood and fire 

Mixed hissing on the quenchless pyre 

Fed with all human agonies. 

Which, to forget hope vainly tries ? 

Amidst the wreck of towers and domes, 

The city's pride, and pillaged homes. 

Have shrieked to silent heavens in vain 

Poor violated maids, and pain 

Of slaughtered infants. Darkly died 

Faith's fervent martyrs though they sighed 

Their last breath praying : and deny 

None can that o'er the orbed earth 

Goes up the vain pathetic cry 

Of poor brute creatures, while man's mirth, 

Childish yet horrible, heeds not 

Or heeds to mock it ; and no spot 

May shield them and no mercy spare. — 

Can God, as man refuse to care ? 

Oh ! life has been, and is, and must 
Eemain the same, a misery ; 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 103 

Hide it we will, yet ever see, — 

What power hath said, this shall not be ? 

We start up, living, from the dust 

And g-aze around in wonder, smile, 

And hope, and strive, a little while, — 

Hate madly — and as madly love, — 

Dream of a something, thought above, 

Which, if, and if, and if we may 

Perchance attain. Then, yea or nay 

From us availing naught, comes in 

The ruffian of old age, and rends 

With ugly weapons the fair face 

And cracks the tuneful voice, and bends 

The form, stealing out from their place 

In eye and lip each gentle grace ; 

Yet, leaving to its prison thin 

And cold a conscious human heart, 

Low beating a funereal part, 

In life's dread chorus ; haunted still 

% joys once known, which now but thrill 

With agony for something lost 

O'er which a soundless sea Is tossed. 

Afraid to love one breathing thing, 

Since all must scorn such offerino", — 

Too weak to strive, too sad to pray, 

Such is the record of life's lengthened way. 

Forgive, thou truest friend, and bless 
Our parting hour, though bitterness 



104 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

0£ thought to strange words found its way 

And wiser had been silent. Nay, 

Small need to fear that I can dim 

The light of holy seraphim, 

Or that within thy halcyon eyes 

By breath of my sad sophistries. 

Something there is which may be told 

Briefly and sternly — pray withhold 

All censure and all pity. I am bold 

In hopelessness, and calm, and cold, 

And for thy sake will much of truth unfold. 

My father is a clergyman. 

To make him so all grace that can 

Pass over to another's soul 

From blessing hand and sweeping stole 

Of the Right Reverend Bishop Lord 

Of Canterbury was by word 

And act bestowed ; more freely since 

True heraldry might all convince 

His rights ancestral were most clear 

As third-born son of a true peer. 

We traveled, pleased, and lingering still, 
In the new Western world, until 
Virginia's shore and sleeping bay 
Had won us, and we chose to stay. 
Soon we had found a pleasant home 
On a fair height from which the dome, 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 105 

The arch, tha colonnade were ours 
Of the white capitol, — or bowers 
Of woodland by the winding river, 
Still country scenes, and sunbeams ever. 

One day, I need not name the place, 
I first beheld that kingly face 
Which you have seen. I heard the voice 
Which you have heard ; and must rejoice 
All hearts that ever felt the jaower 
Of such a voice, speaking the words 
Which in that masrical bright hour 
Came thronging like enchanted birds, 
And filled a thousand souls with strange 
Deep music. Now, even now arrange 
Once more the memories, high and proud. 
Wondrous and spell-like. Burst no loud 
And vulgar cheering, but each heart 
Held lessons never to depart. 

And I ? I scarcely breathed. My soul 
Knelt to him as a Deity, — 
I could have prayed to him as we 
Pray to the Holiest. . . . Unroll 
No more, thou vast and hidden scroll 
On which Time writes from age to age, 
Sealing each strange and maddening page. 
Fragments of more than legendry ! 
That which has been may ever be — 



106 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

Dread mocking of the earnest heart, 
Soul-sears infixed with changeless art. 
The ocean's waves dash vainly o'er 
Footprints in rock along the shore ; 
And though some chisel should ejETace 
An age-formed record from its place, 
One Might alone can e'er control 
To crush time's record from the soul. 

I have no right to think of thee — 
To think thy thoughts, and, thinking, see 
Thee as my tranced dream still sees, 
Thou grand mind-ruling Pericles ! 

III. 

I often met him, where I stood 

In silk and pearls beneath the flood 

Of magical, all-splendid light 

Where beauty grows so more than bright. 

If but my glove were touched by his, 

I, foolish child, for only this 

In a fair cabinet rose-lined 

Kept the poor worthless thing enshrined. 

He passed through thronging crowds the while 

His lips just crossed with their slight smile. 

He spoke with polished courtesy 

To every other, and to me. 

And least of all himself would know 

That he had smiled or spoken so. 



THREE: OB, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 107 

My proud heart spurned at last its chain 

With frantic violence. " Again," 

I said, " shall I pretend to be 

A thing one eye should care to see ? 

I am a fool, a serf, a slave, — 

A menial's garb henceforth I crave ! " 

True to the madness of my pride, 

My jeweled robes were thrown aside, — 

I fled from pain I would not bear, — 

To find a rest my only care. 

Hidden within a housemaid's dress 

I sought employment, with success 

Too soon. A lady said I seemed 

Most worthy, and, although she deemed 

It wrong, she meant for once to trust, 

And I must prove her wise and just. 

She had been ill, and could not dare 

To leave the drawing-rooms in care 

Of common servants ; to her eye — • 

Not dull to judge — familiarly 

I knew good houses — would not do 

As one girl did — spoiling to woe 

A costly Turner which was hazy 

And in its finish slightly mazy — 

So, " Sure," she said, " it was not right — 

Good claning thin would bring it bright." 

I followed to a suite of rooms 

All shadowy with rich velvet glooms, 



108 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER 

And lighted with the artist glow 
Of grand rare pictures hanging low. 
" These rooms," — she said, " your work is here,- 
Keeping them nicely, never fear 
One censure, for the master's way 
Is kind, I can most truly say." 

" The mistress too, — is she the same ? " 
I asked ; " and will you speak the name 
Of those I shall be called to serve ? 
I trust their goodness to deserve." 

Then musingly the matron said, 
" You were not in this city bred ; 
All here know well the senator 
Whose favor crowds are seeking for. 
Who is so popular and loved 
All heed if but his hand is moved. 
He is unmarried, but they say 
The cause of it was the strange way 
Of one who to be wed refused 
Although she loved him. I have mused 
How she could do so hard a thing 
And he, past your imagining, 
So grand and handsome. You must keep 
Your heart, my girl, — nay, do not weep, 
I was but playful ; still, be wise — 
See not too much with those black eyes. 
His bell-call do not think for you. 



THREE: OR, GENEVE A' S TOWER. 109 

But for his valet, Franz the true. 
Myself and husband long have kept 
This mansion, and to us have swept 
Gift after gift, more, vastly more 
Than twice our earnings counted o'er, 
Till we are wealthy ; farther still, 
A home is given to us by will. 
Bound in our hearts and in our life, 
We serve with only loving strife 
To show a grateful willingness 
To pay a debt which grows no less." 

She left me, — and rushed angry tears, 

As rain before the dark sky clears. 

Had I not turned my feet away 

From rich and haughty life, to stray 

On desert, dangerous paths, and with 

No care but this, my monolith 

And tomb to shape, unheard, unknown. 

Unrecognized one faintest tone 

Fraught with a memory spurned and past ? — 

Yet I was there ! most spiteful cast 

Of mocking fortune's die ! But she, 

Dame Moyses, need not think for me ! 

She cannot know — how could it be ? 

My father, though with sorrow bowed. 

Is still by far too calm and proud 

To pass o'er gossip tongues my name, 

Nor will by slightest look or word 



110 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER, 

Permit a rumor vile were stirred — 
He will guard well my maiden fame. 
Dame Moyses with her gracious mien 
Is but a servant, ne'er has seen 
From her life's way, so wise and deft, 
One dream of all my life has left. 

What must I do ? — move on unscared 
As a sure player drops his card. 
'T is plain " a tangled web " I weave, 
Must weave it still though I deceive. 
He may not see me, — if he should 
I have not grown so vainly good 
But he shall learn with deep surprise 
From stupid and indifferent gaze 
To hold his memory in some haze 
Of doubt, though witness his clear eyes. 
Now let me think : I safely have 
My diamonds — documents that prove 
I am her rightful heir, the dear 
Great-aunt, who gave them but to hear 
I had the eyes, the brow, the way 
Of one, not English, thus they say.* 
I '11 go to her, — then I will write 
To my dear father, — may the sight 
Of this imagined letter save 
Him from a wish to seek the grave. 

* Note Poem, p. 129. 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. Ill 

Slowly my musing eyes were raised, 

And from within the mirror gazed 

Two black, black eyes that burn and gleam — 

Oh, if I were that mirror dream ! 

Burst forth in words, — " why must I he f " 

And pitiful it was to see 

How, flowing on unheededly 

A ceaseless fountain, teardrops streak 

With white the brown-stained hidden cheek, 

While on the coarse, brown, servant's dress 

Two white and shapely hands did press. 

And in them, tightly crushing clasp, 

Misplaced in that forgetful grasp, 

A handkerchief of duchess point. 

One moment, and my lips half said. 

As to some fiend or witch, " Aroint ! '* 

For suddenly had burst a dread, 

Strange, indescribable loud tone 

Of laughter, — yet, I was alone. 

The vast rich parlors showed no place 
To hide a human form and face. 
Hence, as some awful spell, uprose 
And round my brain in horror froze 
The sudden question, " Am I mad ? '* 
And clearly, as it seemed, the sad 
Worn face of my loved sire, the fair 
Sweet mother's, and the sunny air 
And loveliness around my home, — 
All my pure blessings which as foam 



112 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

Of worthlessness I had been spurning 

Cam^ as in vision slow returning, 

With contrast of the height I had 

Deepening the question, " Am I mad ? " 

The very agony of thought 

Wrenched forth a strength unknown, unsought, • 

And, " By this wondrous world," I said, 

" O'er whose fire-dejiths we safely tread, 

And by my hope, and by my will. 

My soul, I am not mad, be still ! 

By the sweet Power to whom I flee 

I dare to say, it shall not be." 

No whisper came of slow debate 

Whether in early years or late 

Ood heard or ever answered prayer. 

Pain of itself I felt covdd bear 

Me up on faith's full-rushing wave. 

Could the created being brave 

So much of feeling, joy or pain. 

And the Creator still remain 

A voiceless and half -conscious law 

Of dread necessity? I saw 

A Being then, one hope, one way. 

Swift-sinking on my knees to pray 

Such prayer as ne'er before had crossed 

My trembling lips, " Oh, save, or I am lost ! " 

I rose in utter calmness ; traced 

As by some skillful hand, and placed 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 113 

Before me, was my future way. 
From England I must write, and say, 
" Our home, the dear old English home, 
Amid its parks and streams, is fair, 
And, once more, bringing gladness there, 
Will not my honored father come ? " 

Meanwhile, for an uncertain space 
Of time, I, in my present place. 
Some useful lessons well might learn, 
Seeming awhile the trampled fern. 
Patience of thought, the cultured hand, 
Prepare the proudest to command. 

Young princes may not truly see 

Things they should know, through luxury 

Of palace halls. While ever served 

Obsequiously, too much unnerved 

Is manly purpose, and they learn 

No greatness. Bruce of Bannockburn 

After a rugged strife was crowned, — 

While Edward's son no honors found, 

But yielding fled the conflict stern. 

They who mankind have ably ruled 

Often in various life were schooled. 

Great Alfred with the neatherd talked, 

Brave Henry once with Falstaff walked — 

So I will be a servant true 

A few brief days, then smile adieu. 



114 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

The duchess point was put aside, 
My cuffs and collar simply tied, 
My jetty curls drawn back and braided, 
And on the cheeks my tears had faded 
A soft, brown, even tint was spread. 
And from my hands the whiteness fled. 
I took ray task with earnest care, 
Swept the rich carpets clean and fair, 
Shook clear the curtains, and replaced 
The silver bands that purely graced 
Their purple wealth that downward fell 
From silver cornice mounted well. 
Soon smiled the pictures forth in new 
Fresh color, and the violet's hue 
Of springtime meadows brightly lay 
Where straying sunbeams found their way 
To well-brushed cushions. To deface 
The matchless mirrors was no spot. 
Nor on the central marble blot 
Nor dust, where stood a massive vase 
Of burnished silver. All was done ; 
Calm pleasure on my spirit fell, — 
One little something finished well 
Memory might join with sinking sun. 

Days passed in pleasant quietness, 
And I forgot my face to dress 
In shadowy hues ; but no one heeded, 
Disguise no longer seemed as needed ; 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 115 

For Mrs. Moyses only said, 
With lifted glass and bended head, 
" You have a fairness not the worst, — 
I thought you sunburned at the first." 

A wealth of leisure hours was mine, 

Rare books were near as by design ; 

I read, and sometimes sketched with care 

A chosen picture passing fair 

Among the many. It was one 

That haunted me, — could I have known 

That scene — 't was English ? What the spell 

Divine I could not, nor could tell 

Just in what lines, what soft light's play 

Its beauty as a magic lay. 

I could not dravvT it as I would. 

But failing, more excited grew 

Till once, beneath thought's eager sway 

All other claims had passed away. 

'T was not an hour I ever knew 
To bring the senator, — no sound 
Through all the mansion's quiet bound 
Had reached my ear, — yet, silent stood 
The noble Maurice in the room, — 
And, on his look a stamp of doom. 
By the deep-heaving chest I saw 
The fearful agony to draw 
One breath of crushed and sinking- life. 



116 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

It seemed as the last awful strife 

Must cease forever in his breast 

Ere I could aid him to a rest 

On the near cushion, where he sank 

In a faint helplessness, while dank 

And fatal on his forehead stood 

Large drops like death-dew. When I would 

Have fled for aid, a cold, cold hand 

Held mine as it had been a band 

Of adamant. I could but stand. 

And, in my madness wildly dare 

Thank God that I, alone, was there. 

At last the rigid clasp was less, 

And less convulsive was the press 

Of the firm manly lips. Ah ! there 

You should have dried the soft brown hair 

And the grand forehead j)ale and fair ; 

For, gratefully, I thought, his eyes 

Looked up to thank me as one tries 

To voiceless speak. Again they closed, 

And with a low voice I proposed 

To ring for Franz. He said, with pain 

Scarce whispering, " It would be vain, 

I sent him to — he is away. — 

Brave Marcia, do not fear to stay, — 

I 'm better now, though full assured 

My last of pain is soon endured." 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 117 

Again he rested silently. 
Erelong more lifelike hues low-burned 
On cheek and lip, and slow he turned 
At last his look and thought to me, — 
One moment gazed, with steady eyes 
Fixed thoughtfully, — half moved to rise 
As he had thought by me were claimed 
Some courtesy as yet unnamed. 
*' Lady Octavia, may I ask. 
In painful and self -humbled task," 
He said, " if you with Mrs. Moyses 
Will stay, or go where dearest voices 
Wait, hushed with grief, to welcome you? " 

O maddening hour ! What could I do ? 
He knew me — more, he had been telling 
My father I was safely dwelling 
A favored inmate of his halls ; 
He knew the title which for me 
Unprized was waiting o'er the sea. 
Till reason should resume her sway, 
And fruitless dreaming pass away 
They waited as it oft befalls 
Wisdom can wait serene and still 
For change of folly's reckless will. 
With sudden cold reserve I said, 
" 'T is much regretted I have led 
You thus to question. Kindly, sir, 
Believe a truth which I aver : 



118 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

My coming here was chance alone. 
My Cunard passage has been paid 
For England ; I have lingering stayed 
From many ships to choose the one 
I wish for most, — when safely there, 
My father will receive with care 
Assurance of my duteous love — 
No other claims are his above." 

Maurice had heard with half-closed eyes, 
And, if he felt, concealed surprise ; 
But slowly said, " And will you go 
Where the full streams of travel flow 
On to the Continent, the Rhine, 
Lucerne and Constance and the fine 
Most rare Geneva, — to Vevey ? 
I have a friend who sails to-day 
For Paris in her outward way 
To dwell by the great mountains. Should 
You ever meet her, — and I would 
You may, — love her, and she will bless 
Your life. Her soul's pure nobleness 
None can resist, but must breathe-in 
Her atmosjihere." 

He drew a thin 
Small casket from his loosened vest 
And held it, resting on his breast, 
A little time, then opened it ; 
And in a jeweled frame well fit 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER 119 

I saw your face. " Her name is here," 

He mvirmurecl, " and some letters, dear 

To me as heaven, — be a friend 

For us." I saw his hand extend 

To me the casket, — it was gold 

And ebony, — with it I hold 

My pledge was asked that I would find 

The loved, idealized, enshrined, 

Of that grand heart and ruling mind. 

I 've found her, and my trust resigned. 

Thy Maurice kept the picture, — and, 
The manly-beautiful white hand 
Closed over it with such expression 
Of pure and gentle tenderness 
That a most eloquent confession 
Had spoken to the soul far less ; 
And when, with light of the next day 
From thronging carriages were seen 
Grave saddened looks, and titled men 
Paused in the darkly-draperied halls. 
While mourning dimmed the city walls. 
Pale, peacefully that hand still lay 
Above its treasure. None would try 
To move it, — two alone knew why. 

The casket had revealed your name, 
And I had seen the very same 
Among: the names, the outward bound. 



120 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

Thus, since a letter I had found 

With utmost care sealed and addressed, 

I hastened it, — you know the rest, — 

I hastened it by my own hand — 

'T was passed in small boat from the strand 

Too soon. One week, the seventh day 

I, too, had eastward sailed away. 

Franz failed to reach you, but, still sealed, 
Bore back a letter which revealed 
No word to me, by other eyes 
Profaned were its pure mysteries. 

IV. 

At last I saw you, and had seen 

Your Margaret ask with cautious mien 

For a brave trusty lad to row 

Your barge with skillful care, and slow 

Pausing beside the lake's fair shores 

With ready but unhastening oars. 

A wild and reckless witching thought — 

Such madness in my frame is wrought 

I know not how — came hastily. 

My thought was action, — I could see 
Full soon in mirrors here or there 
An elegant boy-sailor, not so fair 
As was my face at morning hour ; 
Yet searching eyes forgot to lower 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 121 

Nor seem to question of my past. 
Kindly and pleasant to the last 
I found your service, — but I go 
To meet my sire 'midst stately show 
Of England's high-escutcheoned pride, 
A youthful earl's affianced bride. 
An ancient honor still must live 
By wealth which my good aunt will give 
Free through my hand, — 't is mockery 
To fix life's way thus heartlessly ; 
But, worse the wrong to do no kindness 
In selfish and too passionate blindness. 

My masquerades are ended now. 
Henceforth my coroneted brow 
Shall ne'er forget its pride of place, 
But win the reverence, the grace 
We know is fitting. Have no fears — 
I know my way, — and sudden tears 
Tell how my inmost soul reveres 
England's true honors and historic years. 



The picture ? All can soon be told. 
You saw my drawing, kindly thought 
My hand deserved to be well taught 
By some great master. With your gold 
I went to him, the skilled and old, — 
A master honored ; but I claimed 



122 THREE: OR, GENEVHA'S TOWER. 

No student's place, — I am not blamed 

For this I trust. All you have given, 

And, pure as star of summer even. 

One not small diamond of my own 

Joined with the name and photograph 

Of one afar to fame well known. 

The artist but persuaded half 

To paint the picture, — still, the face 

He studied, changing not his place, 

In a long silence, then drew out 

From shadow which was all about 

A full-length canvas framed. He mused 

Forgetful of my presence, and perused 

Again the photogi-aj)h with eye 

That kindled ; slow and silently 

I left him with no other sign 

Or answer. . . . To a hasty line 

From the great master soon received 

I yielded promptly, standing mild 

Before him like a well-schooled child 

Until from questioning relieved 

By the brown-study mood that fell 

O'er him once more with speecliless spell. 

One thing the artist said, to you 
I well may name. The way he knew 
Is mystery, but at once it grew 
As all were fully understood, — 
And, surely, earnestly he would 



THREE: OB, GENEVEA'S TOWER. 123 

Unto the limit of his power 
The sweet Genevan of the tower 
Please in the picture. " It would be," 
He said, " an hour prized wondrously 
If I could see her sitting here. 
Art's true Madonna, without fear 
I to the world could proudly give 
If she would deign to bid it live." 

Dear, gracious lady, grant his prayer, 

And, if I may so rashly dare, 

Let two grand pictures, as thy heir, 

Be mine at last, the dearest light 

Of ancient halls now storied bright 

With history's outstanding forms 

Of might and beauty. Deeply warms 

My inmost heart with a strange love 

That lifts my thoughts all pain above 

Near thee ; and half I 'm pining still 

To hold thy oars, and gently fill 

My life with the white Alps, and thee, — 

Yet will I go — Heaven guard the yet to be ! 



VI. 

Genevra lived, — again, again 
Life's tortuous links of living pain 
Resumed their sway of heart and brain. 
Genevra lived, but in her breast 
An unseen blade had pierced its rest. 



124 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

" If once he loved, he loves not now " 
Infixed the death-light of her brow, — 
And yet she smiled to questioning eyes, 
And all kind far-sought counsels wise 
Heard patiently, the trusted ways 
To lengthen out life's wasting days. 
No more she shunned the proffered aid 
Of Margaret's arm ; but, kindly stayed 
And leaning tremblingly, she walked, 
And gently, though but rarely, talked. 

Soon, soon she walked no more, but lay 
Pale, pure, in beautiful decay. 
With clasped hands, in grieving deep, 
At times she silently would weep 
For some slight wavering of thought 
Where others ne'er had error sought, — 
But oftener far in radiant calm, 
On brow and lip a voiceless psalm, 
She waited patiently and stiU 
Beneath the Sovereign Father's will. 
And Margaret watched in wordless pain 
By the bent lily without stain. 
Once only with low steady voice 
Of one too humble to rejoice. 
Words told from pure Genevra's breast 
Its guarded hope, its strength of rest. 
" Soon will my earth-life pass away, 
This form will be but lifeless clay, — 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 125 

O friends, ye will not think me dead, — 

But, passing onward without dread 

In endless being. The blest word 

Of full assurance now is heard, 

A music low and wondrous. All 

My life lies hushed to list the fall 

Of its deep benediction, — word 

Of joy ! the thirty-first and third 

Of a prophetic page, left there 

To beam, on, on ! and when my last 

Of mortal breath will quick be passed, 

Place my cold finger pointing where 

The true great God, with aspect mild, 

Will read his thought, nor spurn the child 

Who trusted it. I shall know how 

To die, — die into better life. 

Charmed free from passion strife. 

Beneath the bright benignant brow 

That never will misjudge I kneel. 

My soul kneels, evermore to feel 

That holiest brow, that Highest Name 

Shall light eternity, the same." 

VII. 

The spring-time came once more, and brought 
Its glow of hope and promise, caught 
The lingering wind and breathed away 
Its roughness. Gentle was the sway 
As rules some gracious princess, — soon 



126 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

The smmy-warm liglit of the noon 

Brought benisons of beauty, — for 

This earth we tread, like human love 

Responds to sun-bright kindness, nor 

Withholds from loving smile above 

Its glad smile. . . . Coos a snow-white dove 

Along the brown and moss-fringed eaves 

Of the old lakeside tower, nor leaves 

His place when no white kindred wing 

His soft calls through the elm-boughs bring. 

Within, a face than lilies far more white 
Leaned on its pillow in morn's early light. 
The eyelids rest, and not one faintest breath 
Now shades the small bright mirror — is it death ? 
"Might he not come," one said, "and speak aloud? 
It cannot harm her ; but this full and ]>roud 
Success, we know, might almost wake the dead 
To hear it." 

With incautious and firm tread 
A stranger came. He spoke with tone 
That startled by its full and lone 
And bell-like clearness in strange power 
The stillness of that room and hour. 
He spoke, but briefly, thus : " I bring 
Two pearl-bound volumes glittering. 
The loving care of some most bold 
True friends, proving how dear they hold 



THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 127 

The costlier gift, thy treasured thought 
All gems and gold, this casket wrought 
To guard it well." 

The clear bright eyes 
And with no look that seemed surprise, 
Opened once more as in a last 
Full recognition of the life soon passed. 
They rested not with the soft fold 
Of tinted leaves in pearl and gold, 
But wandered steadily away 
And eagerly. The table stood 
Beneath the window, and there lay 
The open page. Beside it, good. 
Pale Margaret wept, — to that fixed look 
She answered, rose, and brought the Book ; 
And the pure finger placed above, 
" Loved with an everlasting love," 

Smiled out death's charm of all-mysterious grace. 

In spirit halo lay the sweet dead face. 

Fulfilling a firm promise given 
To Maurice ere his life was riven, 
One came who waited silently, — 
And none forbade that this should be — 
To claim the slumbering vision fair 
That he the slumberer might bear 
Back o'er the azure ocean dim 
To the ancestral tomb of him 



128 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 

The honored, and the ever true ; 
And in their marble home these two 
Dwell peacefully, — their meeting joy- 
Passed up to Heaven, where no alloy 
Mingles with love, — God's worship love, 
Nor humbler, which may rise to Him above. 



A NOTE POEM. 

** My diamonds — documents wliich prove 
I am her rightful heir, — the dear 
Great-aunt who gave them but to hear 
I have the eyes, the brow, the way 
Of one — not English, — thus they say." 

I. 

Two sisters of a noble name, 

Of beauty rare and spotless fame, 

Both loved, as sisters sometimes do, 

One lover. He was noble too. 

And foreign-born, — they orphaned were, — 

No meddling kindred might demur 

Though one should wed the Count Alfonso, 

The other some brave true Alonzo. 

And he, the Count, how shall he choose ? 
His heart most wisely, fondly woos 
The Lady Ellinor ; yet soon 
Young Ethel's witchcraft, sealed in ice, 
Has all confused his paradise. 
One summer eve the crescent moon 
Shone o'er her and the marble floor. 
And pillars vined, and half -shut door, — 
She stood as a white statue stands 
With gleaming brow and folded hands, 



130 A NOTE POEM. 

With snow-white robe and haughty eye 

Where dwelt no dream of lover's sigh, — 

Yet to the Count near lingering, 

She seemed earth's one enchanted thing. 

In silent gray of the next morn. 

Ere the sun kissed his day new-born, 

Young Ethel waited calm beside 

Her sister's conch. Soon opened wide 

The Lady Ellinor's blue eyes 

From sleep, and gazed with still surprise 

To read her silent sister's mien. 

" I came to wait as you have seen," 
Fair Ethel said, " your wakening, 
And now to speak the words I bring. 
'T is you, my Ellinor, must wed 
With Count Alfonso. I have read 
Fate's book, and it is written there. 
You are, my Ellinor, more fair 
Than I, and fair with coming years 
Will grow, I fading. Nay, no tears ! " 

The elder sister gently said, 
" Come, pet, and rest with me your head 
And listen so. But yesternight 
He watched you in the sweet moonlight 
And all his soul spoke from his eyes, — 
No faintest veil did truth disguise. 
Since then strange peace on me has gleamed. 
He loves you more than I had dreamed." 



A NOTE POEM. 131 

" Hush, EUinor ! I will not hear 
One word like this ; my way is clear. 
Again I say, fate's book is read, — 
'T is you, not I, that shall be wed 
With Count Alfonso. In one week 
I shall crush out a fancy meek, 
If such now lives. The Count shall bless 
His lucky stars of blessedness 
That he is safe, and shall decline 
To share my moods. All must combine 
To prove my words a prophecy — 
'T is you, dear Nell, can yield — not I." 

II. 

A few bright moons had come and shone, 
And Lady EUinor was gone 
To dwell where Roman, Goth and Moor 
Reared well majestic arch and door 
Of stately piles, — and Christian art 
With lines of stone wrought high its part 
Of cloistered grandeur, wondrous all, 
To shajDC Spain's ancient capital ; 
And oft Alfonso blessed the hour 
That lit his hearthstone and his bower, 
That gave his home, his heart, his life 
A true and fair, an English wife. 

The Lady Ethel lived unwed 
In her ancestral home, and fled 



132 A NOTE POEM. 

All questioning eyes of noble friends, — 
Though prompt her watchful ear attends 
When plead the sorrowful and poor, 
And none in want must leave her door. 
Of all who came no one might trace 
Nor tell of Lady Ethel's face, — 
Her words were few, her ways unfold 
Only her pity and her grace, — 
Her mien reserved, though, scarcely cold, 
Subdued all eyes the overbold. 
She came and went a priestess veiled. 
None dared to dream of grief bewailed. 

Her lofty bower was opened fair 

O'er graceful park and breezy hills 

Beneath earth's freshest, bluest air 

Which every nerve with vigor thrills. 

A gallery wide o'erhung the lawn 

Where fountains plashed at early dawn. 

And rippled musically low 

To evening's footsteps soft and slow. 

No busy maid nor serviteur 

Was ever called to enter there, 

To that high room so still and rare, — 

The Lady, — all unseen by her 

Were wondering eyes sly-peeping. Soon 

Most marvelous tales, a welcome boon, 

Spread far and wide, — the gossips say 

That place where quiet Ethel dwelt, 



A NOTE POEM. 133 

And sometimes wept, and often knelt, 

Was like a home for any fay, 

All draped in soft and costly lace, — 

And silver lamps alone had place. 

And velvet rich, and books gold-clasped, 

And pictures which whole fortunes grasped, — 

While something shone like large bright stars 

From ceiling veiled by silken bars 

Alternate with the filmy cloud 

Of airy lace that waved and bowed 

Above rare flowers upheld below 

From polished urns that flush and glow. 

One summer eve, the air was still, — 

The lady's door was closed ill 

Or slightly, — and it parted slow — 

Then closed and parted without sound. 

A new tale went the hamlets round, — 

The Lady Ethel had been bound 

Hour after hour in trance before 

A lofty knight who armor bore. 

His mantle hid yet grandly showed 

His stately form — a broad plume flowed 

Above his high and crested brow. 

Black, silken, magic curls, and eyes 

Where starry midnight ever lies. 

Pride and sweet dreadf ulness were there — 

What woman should such danger dare ? 

What woman's heart that would not bow ? 



134 A NOTE POEM. 

III. 

A lady, the one grandchild heir 

Of that most noble wedded pair 

Who looked from their strong castle bold 

On Spain's Toledo famed and old, 

Her nearest kindred buried all. 

Shadowed by sacred mourning's pall, 

Came to her English friends and land. 

One year, and love's and wedlock's band 

With a great earl's third son was laid 

On her young life. The priests had prayed 

And blessed the ring, and voices low 

Were whispering, "How strange things go ! 

She should be Countess, she so fair, — 

Ne'er can our Earl's new bride compare 

With this new Ellinor, who looks 

And smiles as true and good as she 

Who smiled in youth so graciously — 

Countess, — in Spain, — her name 's in books." 

Yes, lovely Ellinor anew 
Came forth from mourning robe and veil 
An English beauty, blonde, not pale, 
With English curls of flaxen hue. 

In lapse of time, her daughter, named 
Octavia, had most fidly claimed. 



A NOTE POEM. 135 

Each trait except the olive clear 
That made more perfect and more dear 
His manly cheek, her great grandsire 
The Count Alfonso ; all dark fire 
Of his black eyes, his silken curls 
Black as the eyes, though vain their twirls 
Upon her forehead and her cheek 
To hide the English blush-rose hue 
Or dim the lily mingling through, — 
Of her strange beauty all would speak. 
When she, a child, heard words of this. 
She deemed the childish pastime bliss 
To stain her face to olive clear 
And bid the smiling servants near : 
" Say now ' Dona,' and never ' pet,' 
Attend, and never more forget." 

Of things that entered as a spell 

This maiden's life she best can tell. 

A paper found in later years 

Is copied with misgiving fears, 

For stamped upon the leaf appears 

A coronet. As fair as proud 

One stately head no grief e'er bowed. 

The starry mind, the strong true heart 

Dwelt palaced safe from ill apart. 

She would not frown though others share 

Some whispers from a life so fair. 



136 A NOTE POEM. 

IV. 

" When first Aunt Ethel thought of me, 
A child of three years, bounding free 
Among the butterflies and flowers, 
Counting my life by joy-filled hours, 
She sent her carriage and behest — 
That I must come, her one request. 
I went, for I had ne'er known fear, — 
A something new was ever dear, — 
I went alone, — it was not well 
To grant more than her wishes tell. 

*' She took me kindly to her heart. 
Talked things to win with childlike art ; 
She bore me to her eyrie bright 
And wonderful with artist light 
That softly filled the magic place. 
I kissed the white cheek by my face 
And whispered, ' Is this Paradise ? 
Have you been good and always nice. 
So you can always, always stay 
When naughty ones are sent away ? ' 
Warm kisses fell and, too, a tear, 
Upon my face, — ' You will not fear. 
Dear child,' she said, — ' what if I can 
Bring from the dark a bold brave man ? ' 

*' ' I never fear, dear auntie, no ; 
But tell me, is he happy so. 



A NOTE POEM. 137 

Shut in the darkness ? do I know 
Him ? will you let him go ? ' 

" My good aunt laughed right cheerfully, 
And with one motion of her hand 
A starred dark velvet glides above, — 
I spring, and fearless, eager, stand. 

" ' Can you tell who it is, my love ? ' 
Aunt Ethel said, ' 'T is grandpa,' I, 
' My own grand-grandpa. Mamma names 
Me Spanish, and I play at games 
I am a queenly Lady proud 
In castle of a sunset cloud 
With silver shining door.' 

*' ' Now, darling, hark, and tell me more. 
How can you know your great-grandsire ? 
You never saw his face, 't is plain, 
And, though his portraits all admire, 
There 's not in shadow nor in sun 
Like this you see another one 
In England nor in Spain.' 

" Well might the Lady Ethel say 
Such words, for her own hand that ray 
Of wondrous spirit life had given — 
It cheered and saved when lonely riven — 
To the dead canvas ; and she knew 
Her noble friend, grand as he stood. 



138 A NOTE POEM. 

On her deep inmost life ne'er threw 

Such splendor, nor her spirit's mood 

So ruled as this insensate form 

Shaped from her young love's deathless charm. 

She knew it was not he, was more, — 

And in that form she covild adore 

A Being conscious, all divine, 

Her Christ, her king, and feel forgiven, — 

As in a life drawn near to heaven 

Could win a joy, a sacred sign, 

A reflex light with her to shine, 

A dream of one great Perfectness, 

Found at the last to fully bless. 

*' ' I must have dreamed it, auntie, then,' 
I puzzled out at last; and when 
My aunt had heard, ' Dream on, my sweet,' 
She said, ' and never fail to meet 
The Count Alfonso for one day 
Each week, — and tell me now, and say, 
Old James was careful of my child ? 
The horses were as kittens mild ? 
I bade him drive as he had care 
To bring a crystal mirror fair 
Or vase of pearl too white and rare.' 

" I loved Aunt Ethel, and she grew 
From week to week more sweet and true. 
No end e'er came of gentle art 



A NOTE POEM. 139 

To win and keep my childish heart, — 

No end of stories quaint and old, 

No end of histories true and bold. 

No end of minerals, gems, and shells 

From cabinets and unseen wells ; 

She taught in ways that charmed my youth, 

Science and wisdom, taste and truth. 

And thus I grew Aunt Ethel's child. 

Faithful to her, if sometimes wild, — 

Her treasure, the unconscious heir 

Of her vast wealth, which without care 

Grew steadily to more and more, 

Unspent her annual income store. 

III. 

" I was sixteen. One summer day 
My eyes grew dim, before me lay 
In velvet cushions an array 
Of large old diamonds, dazzling bright. 
Heirlooms filled with historic light. 
And they were mine, and I might wear 
And use them when I would and where. 

*' That day the young earl, titled high 
With all his late-lost sire laid by, 
Curbed his strong steed to moveless stand 
Where by a liveried page's hand 
My carriage-door was held aside 
With form and state of titled pride ; 



140 A NOTE POEM. 

And I had entered wondering why 
My parents with quick tear and sigh 
Did not 'midst kisses bid me go, 
Yet say the hours woukl move too slow 
Till my return, — but, near beside 
Earl Edmund saw, and so I tried 
To act my ' Lady's part ' full well, — 
How sad it seemed I will not tell. 

" His dress of deeply mourning hue 
A manly form gave to my view. 
From foot in silver stirrup's curve 
To the young stately head he bent 
In graceful defei'cnce when he went 
No line from elegance could swerve. 

" A kind and courteous wish he spoke 
That for my journeys would invoke 
All pleasant scenes, and peaceful hours, 
And safe retreats, and cheerful bowers. 
' I may not fondly, rashly, dare 
To say that I will meet you there,' 
He murmured low, v/ith questioning mien, 
'The Lady Ethel will decree 
Five years of banishment for me. 
For you five years of girlhood free, 
Her reason is not clearly seen ; 
But, guarded by your noble sire 
You are, reluctant I retire.' " 



STUDIES WITH HISTORY AND 
POETIC MYTH. 



" Well speed thy mission, bold Iconoclast! 
Yet all unworthy of its trust art thou 
If with dry eye, and cold unloving- heart 
Thou tread' st the solemn Pantheon of the Past ; 
By the great Future's dazzling hope made blind 
To all the beauty, power, and truth behind." 

Whittier. 

*' Wondrous and awful are thy silent halls, 
kingdom of the Past ! " 

Lowell. 

" Great men are the Fire-pillars in this dark pilgrimage of man- 
kind ; they stand as heavenly signs, everlasting- witnesses of wliat 
has been, prophetic tokens of what may still be, the revealed, 
embodied possibilities of human nature ; which greatness he who 
has never seen, nor rationally conceived of, and with his whole 
heart passionately loved and reverenced, is himself forever 
doomed to be little.' ' — Carlyle. 

"How majestically they walk in history, some like the sun, 
others wrapped in gloom, yet glorious as night with stars ! " — 
Longfellow. 

— *' God's witnesses, the voices of his will 
Heard in the slow march of the centuries still." 

Whittiek. 



Te human hearts perished, 
Through erring and loss, 

In scenes where wild passions 
TJieir ocean-waves toss, 

Our human hearts seek you 
Time's wide gulfs across. 

Ye loved as we \e loving, 
Ye dreamed as we dream. 

Ye sighed for the glorious, 
Watched, dying, its beam ; 

We too die while grasping 
Some far hope we seem. 



ALEXANDER. 



Prophetic truth at last ! * 
Quake, Xerxes' throne and heir ! 
One Grecian heart beats hot and fast 
To think a foe's bold footsteps passed 
O'er Hellas proud and fair. 
* Daniel viii. 5-7. 



STUDIES WITH HISTORY AND MYTH. 143 

The mocking shame rests there 

On Hellas, vale and hill, 
And Persia's vain luxurious state 
Must feel the tread of coming fate, 

A stern and deadly thrill. 

Held by the Sovereign will 

Stood he of princely line, 
His white plume shone, his clear eye smiled. 
Ambition breathed yet undefiled, — 

He felt a might divine 

Above him rule and shine ; 

And, swift as eagles press. 
He passed with bold defiant wing 
Beyond Thermopylae, a king 

By his own kingliness. 

The grave Amphyctyons bless 

The youthful conqueror's way, 
Look on his bright imperious face, 
Nor breathes one sage out from his place 
Dissent from his felt sway. 

In vain with God his stay 

May hostile arrows hiss, — 
Granicus rolls behind him. Tyre 
Is won ; and soon despair and fire 

O'erwhelm Persepolis. 



144 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Lived he for this, for this, 

To bend at Amnion's fane 
And dream an idol-god was by 
To nerve his arm, to light his eye 

And shield from death and pain ? 

Left in his valor vain 

He braves the javelin, — 
His fainting brow before the foe 
Is bent upon his shield full low, 

The barb his breast within. 

No more all hearts to win 

His grace a bond may twine,* 
But he who wept Darius dead 
Life-blood of his true friend can shed, 
Grown fierce with rage and wine. 

Left by the hand divine. 

The vengeful Furies seem 
To scorch his brain, to move his hand, 
To change his sceptre for a brand 

That waves like frenzy's gleam. 

* "The character of Alexander of Macedon, with all its dark 
shades, has a nobleness and sweetness that win our hearts. No 
one else so gained the love of the conquered. . . . Nor have 
any ten years left so lasting a trace on the history of the world as 
those of his career." 

He was noble and true after the best models he had to study, 
and he firmly believed in a Supernal rule of his destiny. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 145 

Left in his dying dream, 

Deep pales that fevered face, — 
The haughty strength, the young brave heart 
No more in valor's deeds have part, — 

The death-car now has place. 

The death-car ? Nay, what trace 

Of all that ponderous pride 
Has earth to-day ? What velvet fold ? 
What mourning state ? what jewels ? gold ? 

Vain search ! — we know he died. 



ALCIBIADES. 

Kestsman of Pericles, 
Pupil of Socrates, 
Curled Alcibiades 

Lived but in vain. 

Base from proud Pericles, 
False from true Socrates, 
Passed Alcibiades 
Ruin to gain. 



146 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 



CASSANDRA. 

Phantom of unread meaning, 
Thou pale and tortured one, 

Apollo-loved and gifted, — 
A mockery was thy sun. 

Thy mournful eyes saw ever 
Beneath the fairest bloom, 

Beneath all glow, all beauty, 
The shadows and the doom. 

Thou couldst not choose but see them 
When crested Hector stood 

Supreme in strength, in valor, — 
The wounds, the dust, the blood. 

Yet vain thy full, far seeing. 
All vain the loved to save, — 

The god-gift asked so wildly 
But made thy heart a grave. 

Cassandra, O Cassandra, 

Know'st thou the home of peace? 
Vindictive bright Apollo 

Should give thy woe surcease. 

Hast thou in nature's bosom, 
With eyelids softly sealed, 



AND POETIC MYTH. 147 

A dream untold and painless, 
Thy torn heart fully healed ? 

Ah yes ; yet earth has sorrows, — 

No shadow-griefs are they, 
Heart aches that may not slumber 

Forgetfully to-day. 



ABSALOM AND HIS SISTER. 

By her rich mantle and its clasping gems, 

She was the daughter of the king — the fair 

Bright sister of the princely Absalom, — 

But ah, so changed ! Prostrate on the bare earth, 

The frail spring flower o'er which some countless 

host 
Has passed with hurrying feet seems not a thing 
By half so crushed and trampled. 

Absalom 
For days and months and years had held vain 

strife 
With his own thoughts, — the consciousness of 

powers. 
Perchance his best and loftiest, which life's bound 
Shut in too painfully, — the burning dream 
Of noble deeds well done, — of wrongs avenged, — 
The grateful honors of a people blessed 
Upon his name, — all that ambition breathes 
To stir the eager heart ere guilt is there. 



148 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

For this deep-haunting phantasm of his brain 
There was one spell of soothing, the soft voice 
And murmuring harp of Tamar ; for she knew 
To touch the trembling chords even with her sirens 
Own mastery ; and when she sang some rich 
Low melody of love and sacred rest, 
Or, sweetly-solemn from her reverent lips 
Fell the Jehovah's name, an inward voice 
Proclaimed it, and he bowed to the calm might 
Of loftier thoughts than seemed his own high 

dreamings. 
A cold hush fell upon her brother's home, — 
The princess went with kindly ministry, — 
It was the King's wish and express command — 
Where pined the young prince Amnon, he whose 

brows. 
Destined to wear the consecrated gold 
Of Judah's crown, were fevered with the blood 
Of wild-impassioned manhood. 

Absalom, 
The beautiful, stood by the city gate 
At noon, with mien of idlest musing, while 
Men passed and did him loving reverence ; 
But one, a cunning sycophant, drew near 
And bent him low to kiss the jeweled hand, 
That lay pressed carelessly upon the hilt 
Of a still-useless sword, and murmured, " Live, 
Live Absalom, whom God has stamped a king! " 



AND POETIC MYTH. 149 

The prince turned haughtily away, and went 
To his lone chamber, for his life's quick fiend 
Was troubling him. The evening came and night, 
But c;;nie not rest. His sleep was weariness 
From bad yet tempting visions, and the ray 
First seen of the pure dawnlight wooed him forth 
To diiak in freshness from the morning air 
Amon j- the cedars, — thus they met, that brother 
And that sister. 

A moment he stood still 
And gazed like one bewildered — then the whole 
Black truth was fathomed ; for, when last within 
The palace gates the king's sons had been gathered, 
While the sole daughter fair and queenly shone, — 
His own fair, peerless Tamar, and his eye 
Had watched her graceful steps with all the pride 
Of his true brother heart, — as if forewarned, 
He turned all suddenly to mark, fixed too 
On her, the dark, licentious gaze of Amnon. 
And now, she lay there on the pitiless earth 
Grave-hued, and chill, and motionless as death. 

The full, proud lips of Absalom blanched slightly, 
And over his smooth brow a penciled vein 
Showed clear in swollen, darkening channels — 

these 
Were the sole signs of that fixed, wrathful vow 
Which shrank not from its hour of dread fulfil- 
ment. 



150 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

He bent in calmness by the prostrate one, 

And raised lier head, gathering the long bright hair 

Up from the soiling dust ; and in those tones 

Of low and thrilling gentleness which none 

But Absalom could use, he soothed her grief. 

Oh ! there are agonies which cannot bear 

The softest velvet touch of sympathy ; 

And hers were such, — for when she saw his face 

The thought of all she must forever be, 

A thing to blush and weep for, in his sight, 

Her true, proud, generous brother, was too much 

For the strained chords of the deep-struggling heart. 

With one keen, quivering cry that pierced the ear 

Of Absalom as swords might never pierce, 

She sprang off from his bosom, and the look 

That glared to his from eyes once beautiful 

As starlight of the eastern heavens, was one 

That told of madness. At his feet once more 

She sank, while from her whitening lips the last 

Frail breath of agonized existence seemed 

As parting. Nervelessly he bent to raise 

That tortured one, and with slow reeling steps 

Regained the shielding silence of his home. 

Dark were the deeds of Absalom, and stern 
And terrible the maledictions are 
Around his blighted name ; yet David loved 
The rebel wanderer, and who shall say 
How oft would the regretful son have turned 



AND POETIC MYTH. 151 

Back loyally to the king-father's knee 

But that a pallid face, all its sweet ligl;t 

Burned out, pale lips that, wordless, vainly moved> 

Rose hauntingly where'er he looked until 

The tig'er of his heart burst forth to claim 

A hecatomb of victims ? 



THE PROPHET'S CHASTENING. 

" Son of man, behold I take away from thee the desire of thine 
eyes with a stroke ; yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep. 

" Forbear to cry, make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire 
of thy head upon thee ; and put on thy shoes upon thy feet, and 
cover not thy lips, and eat not the bread of men." 

EzEKlEL xxiv. 16. 

The lonely river, far Chaboras, lay 

Beneath the hushing twilight. Its low tone 

Of rippling waters by the sedgy shore 

Reached not the arches of its clustering shade, — 

Nor stirred the voiceless, brooding mystery where' 

Knelt captive Judah's prophet. Since high noon. 

He had bowed lowly thus, but the damp brow, 

Half hid in the dark mantle's fold, bore not 

On its worn loftiness the radiant calm 

That told of high communings, — and yet, God 

Had met and spoken with him. 

Grief and care 
Had been the stern companions of each step 
Through all the prophet's life-path. He had turned 



152 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

With the sick weariness of a pure heart 
From haunts of foul idolatry ; and when, 
Soul-thrilled with ti'embling earnestness and awe, 
He told the certainty of coming wrath, 
Had seen it disregarded. Through long days 
And nights, with the bare earth and silent heaven 
Alone he had kept vigil, heart and soul 
Mysteriously wrung by guilt not his ; 
And yet those words that lie not have decreed 
A new deep sense of suffering. The sole chord 
Unswept of pain's harsh fingers, must awake, — 
That chord which in the depth of human life. 
Though hung in loneliness on mourning willow. 
Or with relentless hand strained to a task 
Of other themes, still in rich undertone 
Will breathe its music out of human love. 

There was a creature with an angel brow 

And soft dark floating tresses, who had dwelt 

Within the prophet's home. There was a hand, 

Fair as the gleaming ivory of Tyre, 

Whose light caressing touch failed not to smooth 

The deep lines from his forehead, and could woo 

His spirit oft from its dread tension back 

To cliildlike joy. Oh ! beautiful she was, 

And bright, and young; and her rich maiden heart 

And peerless beauty, all, were freely given 

To the stern prophet. Naught to her were locks 

Of shining darkness, nor the ruddy glow 



AND POETIC MYTH. 153 

On youthful manhood's cheek, when calm he stood, 

And to the high commission sealed in light, — 

In heaven's own kindling glory, on his front, 

Strong rebel might, that yielded not, would stoop ; 

And if at times an awe — almost a fear — 

Came o'er her love, she thought of other hours 

When he, so raised above Innnanity, 

So clothed with mystery by God's own hand, 

In very human weariness would seek 

A humbler ministry. She was the link — 

The one pure priceless link through which he felt 

The might, the charm of human brotherhood, 

Yet she for Israel's sake — must die. 

No rest 
Came to the prophet's pillow, and the hum 
Of busy crowds brought no forgetfulness ; 
For the mysterious power that dwelt within 
Ceased not its boding whispers to his heart. 
He sought his place of prayer ; and as he knelt. 
Sudden and swift as darts the lightning's flash 
Across his spirit came a consciousness 
That the still joy which held him at her side. 
His bosom's dove, bore in heaven's sovereign eye 
The dark seal of idolatry. 
To earth in dread humiliation bent 
Was the majestic brow from which had shone 
So oft inspiring Godhead ; but no words 
Of lowly sad confession had found way 
Ere the felt voice of all-unearthly peace 



154 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Had hushed the troubled waters of this grief ; 
And the one error of a chastened heart 
Had found forgiveness. 

Once again he raised 
Beseeching hands on high, and would have asked 
That He who had forgiven, yet would spare ; 
But then, no utterance came. He knew the cup 
Might not pass from his lips ; and yet he knelt 
Hour after hour, with all his aching heart 
Of sorrow bared before the Merciful. 
The glassy stream rolled on. Soft, starry light 
Stole through the breathless palm -boughs, and 

white flowers 
Looked up with dewy eyes. With one brief prayer 
For strength that might not fail, the j)rophet rose 
And sought his home. 

The iron lamp hung low 
And wrought on the stone floor in ebon shade 
Its semblance ; but a clear full i^adiance fell 
Where, on a snow-white couch, lay droopingly 
A silent form. Apart, yet in that room 
Stood one with dark robes, and tight-folded arms, 
And stern still breast, — Jehovah's prophet looked 
Upon his dead. 

Her cold transparent cheek 
Had scarce a fainter tint of the pale rose 
Than it had worn before, and the hushed lips 
Had their own serious sweetness in each curve ; 
But, hovering where the silken eyelash lay 



AND POETIC MYTH. 165 

Too strangely still, was a soft mournfulness 
Which seemed to plead for but one tear. And he 
Who was so desolate must look on her, 
Remembering all her swerveless truth, her calm, 
And holy love ; and then turn back the tide 
Of swelling tenderness on his own heart ; 
And that heart must not break, but bear its bur- 
den. 
With his firm footstep and uplifted brow 
He must go forth, and, binding on his robes 
And priestly mitre, meet the gaze of men 
Who wondering gazed. 

'T was done ; and as the throng 
Gathered around, with eloquence well-taught 
By the deep spell of conquered agony, 
He spake what was commanded. 



IN THE DAYS OF OLD. 

"Moses hid his face. And He (God) said, I -will certainly be 
■with thee." 

" Enoch walked with God .... and he was not, for God took 
him." 

"0 man greatly beloved, be strong, yea, be strong! " Daniel 
X. 19. 

There were hearts of gold 
In the days of old. 
And lives that were grand and long, 



156 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Eyes that drooped low 

'Neath a solemn glow 

Of God-light that made them strong. 

Yes, men were rare 

And women fair 
In a bright and unworn mould, — 

And their words were wise, 

And their prayers and sighs 
God heard in the days of old. 

The grand old book 

With the reverend look 
"Which our fathers trusted well 

Scorns not to speak 

Of a ruddy cheek. 
Nor the might of love's wondrous spell. 

We smile as we stand 

On a desert land 
And dream of the ancient men, — 

Yet sigh for the light 

To our straining sight 
Through life's dusk that guided then. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 157 



THE VOICE OF THE ELOQUENT. 

"Which spell of thine, O Music, say, 
O'ev passion and thought holds mightiest sway? 
is it the shrilling clarion note 
On fields where conquering banners float, 
Where the haughty heart's stern will is done, 
Where life-blood flows and fame is won ? 
Is it the swift and joyous strain 
From pillared halls and the festal train ? 
Or, mounts it with the solemn power 
Of oi'gan-swell in reverent hour 
Where hoary minsters answering thrill, 
And ages tread the deep aisles still ? 
Dwells there most true in nature's charm 
Thy might to bless and grief disarm 
Where lapsing waves on the silver strand 
Throb low and sweet to an unseen hand ; 
Or slow the plumy pine-trees wave 
To the wind's soft hymn by a forest grave ; 
Or where along some moonlit vale 
Gurgles the song of the nightingale, 
" Telling a thousand mournful things " 
To the zephyrs that pause on gentle wings ; — 
Which of thy tones, O Music, tell, 
Subdues the soul with strongest spell? 

List, with the hush of yon breathless crowd ! 
The clear light falls on a forehead proud, — 



158 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

And that eye, — what splendor is beaming thence ? 
The glow, the might of eloquence ; 
As slow its magic charm is waking, 
A human voice the stillness breaking. 

Have ye heard this voice in mystic power — 
A godlike gift, a mortal's dower — 
When it brings high hope to the sinking soul 
And electric thoughts on its full tide roll, 
While beneath its strength an undertone 
Runs deep and clear and sweet and lone, 
Revealing from the heart's pure well 
Some holier truth than words can tell, — 
Oh, who has heard yet never confessed, 
While chained a captive his willing breast, 
That of music tones that thrill to bliss 
There is none so wonderful as this ? 

Back through the ages with their vast 
Stern freedom conflicts of the past, 
In council halls was felt the shock 
Of mighty minds, and wildly rock 
Ill-fated thrones to ruin hurled 
When wise words mold anew the world. 

Far down the ages dimly known 
Diamonds and pearls of thought are strown. 
Pause well at the Forum where Cicero spoke, 
And where the brave Gracchi Rome's manhood 
awoke, — 



AND POETIC MYTH. 159 

Then back, till clearly the inner eye sees 
The glory of Athens, her grand Pericles. 
With pride o£ the noble in soul and mien, 
He ruled for the people, content if unseen. 
That Athens, the perfect, the child of his hand, 
To the oncoming ages art's model might stand. 
He curbed his own spirit, and, this conquest made, 
A sceptre of might he wondrously swayed 
Over men from the land, over men from the ships, 
With " weapons of Jove " on his beautiful lips. 

Tell ye of Demosthenes, later and strong. 

Whose thunders to present years echo along ? 

Yes, tell of Demosthenes, patriot proud 

Who died when his country to Macedon bowed, — 

Yet he of deep eloquence, fervor and fire 

Was but the true son, another the sire. 

O mind of man, mysterious power, 
That dwell'st in dust, thy dreamings tower 
And dome themselves full loftily ! 
Upbuilt with fitting words, like stones 
Polished and cut in tracery 
To shape thy immaterial tones 
Of grandeur and of beauty. Yet 
Where lift thy matchless aisles, with fret 
Of roof and mullioned arch, faint moans 
As of a dreary night-wind steal 
Numbing the wearied sense to feel 



160 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

That even consummate templed art 
No shelter gives man's homeless heart. 



Ye burning words of other years 

When truth was truth, and haggard fears 

And all-embracing doubt, unknown 

Were all undreamed, while life still sought 

A something dear, hoped for, and fraught 

With blessing, — ah, from zone to zone, 

Ye words of fire be heard once more ! 

Sinai, we kneel, — we may adore — 

Thy awful voice sounds from afar. 

And Hermon glows with love's bright star. 



ENDYMION SLEEPING. 

— A SCENE most fair, the Latmos hill 
From which the trees droop low and still 
Upon a crystal gleaming lake — 
No softest sounds the silence break 
Where lies Endymion sleeping. 

A white swan dreams upon the wave 
That loves her snowy breast to lave, — 
A temple whiter than her wing. 
Stands where the j)alm-tree shadows cling, 
And lies Endymion sleeping. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 161 

The temple's marble steps are near, 
The moonlight waters shming clear, 
The palm-leaf shadows softly lie, — 
A soundless-soft voice calms its sigh 
To leave Endymion sleeping. 

The flowers are clustered at his feet, 
Narcissus fair and red rose sweet, 
The hyacinth dark-purpling lies — 
And shine above the sad pure eyes 
That light Endymion sleeping. 

His dark curls on the marble rest, 
His white hands on a peaceful breast, 
His lips of matchless godlike mold 
Smile with a joy for earth too bold. — 
Ah, leave Endymion sleeping I 



CLEOPATRA'S SOLILOQUY. 

'T WAS more than love, O Casar. I lay hushed 
In sleepless dream beside thy beating heart 
To learn the fate of empires, and I knew 
Not all the thunder gods so feared and famed 
Of far Olympus, — no, nor Psyche's love, 
Eros the beautiful who veiled his face 
In night from eyes that to behold him pined, 
Could bless me as thy presence, lofty one. 



162 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Am I, am I alone ? and witli thy kiss 
Of parting- didst thou counsel the loathed vow 
To bind my life with that of the poor boy, 
Young Ptolemy ? 

Caesar is gone. Oh, word 
Of ruin to my heart and fame ! and yet 
I would not have him stay and thus become 
Less high, less conquering. That I saw, I won 
My life's proud dream, its first and sovereign lord 
Whose word can sway the world, — this joy is mine ; 
And had his heart been iron, each word a death, 
I still had loved him ; but my Caesar was 
Gracious and gentle, in his kindness great, 
Sovereign beyond all thought in everything. 

Lost ! lost ! I look before and see a path 
I cannot shun, while black fiends mock at it. 
My young bright womanhood must hated live, 
Divorced from gladness, truth, hope, love, and light, 
Or, I must die — by my own hand must die, 
Before my life has grown too hateful far 
That I may bear it. Not one chance remains 
To change the web which the accursed ones 
Have woven. The noble Caesar would have made 
My life his own, as j^rinces should be wed 
In honor and in faithfulness, but they. 
Those upstart Romans, scorn the pure Greek blood 
That flowed to me from just below the throne 
Of mighty Macedon, — but I '11 not weep — 



AND POETIC MYTH. 163 

Nay, there is sternei* work to do, — to curb 
My rebel lords to a due reverence, 
And keep my crown for Caesar's son, and mine. 
I will go celebrate my mock of nuptials 
And hush all murmurs thus against my right 
To reign in Egypt, — reign in truth I will. 
And never shall a false nor rightful heir 
Of all the Ptolemies usurp the place 
Of my true prince, my most imperial-sired 
Csesarion, — who bounding, clinging, comes 
With baby fondness to my maddened heart. 
Oh ! 't is too much — myself am half a child. 
Yet through the long black years I nevermore 
Must see the proud one, baby boy, who gave 
Thy fairest life. 

Nay, — there are galleys light 
And strong, and the blue sea I ever love 
Bears where I will. A crowned queen has right 
In foreign courts to queenly welcome, — Rome, > 
I will behold thy mighty hills, and him, — 
And if vexed Rome and vexed Calphurnia 
So vex great Caesar that his mien is cold 
And formal in my welcome, — then, ye fates. 
The dagger-point's keen sympathy remains. 
I '11 rend the swelling coils that prison now 
This burning blood, whose crimson current glows 
Too passionate beneath the burning sun 
Of Egypt, — and the form he praised shall lie 
Cold-pure and harmless at his pitying feet. 



164 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Perchance tlie hour is near, — why comes this 

thought ? 
When Caesar too shall know the searchitig power 
Of such sharp sympathy to cure life's ills. 



THE CRUCIFIED. 

Night hovered o'er the garden strange and still. 
The Roman guard gathered beside the stone 
Which lay upheaved defiantly, and barred 
The rock-hewn tomb of Calvary. Those hours 
Which ushered in the " third day " were at hand, 
And still the linen folds held the pale form 
Of Jesus. Death's cold seal yet pressed those lijjs ; 
But the calm holy brow was eloquent ; 
And as the night waned onward to its close 
The sorrowing lines of that most sacred beauty 
Kindled to all on which immortal eyes 
Alone could look. 

O Saviour, Thou art risen ; 
But we still trace with deepest reverent love 
Thy footprints here, those hallowed scenes that tell 
How far a God could stoop with purposes 
Of mercy. Not as they who saw Thee once 
Pale from the agony of Pilate's cross, 
And touched thy pierced hands, and gently wound 
Back from thy drooping head its crown of thorns, 
May we bow down to worship ; but our day 



AND POETIC MYTH. 165 

Of sackcloth and of silence, when amid 

The ashes of a desolated life 

And the strown wreck of the high-altars reared 

In madness to our idols, we have learned 

The pure deep lesson of humility, 

Shall own thy Presence near. 

Comest Thou not 
To faith's sweet prayerful stillness — when the 

heart 
Has utterance more than words, and winged soul 
Seems half enfranchised into angel life. 
Oh, then, do we not clasp thy feet, and share 
The pure compassions of thy sovereign eye ? — 
And earth, with its cold painted brilliancies 
And vapory joys, dim hope, and trustless love, 
Seems far too poor one sigh or smile to win 
From the high-wedded trust. 



TWO HOURS FROM THE LIFE OF JULIA 
DOMNA, 

EMPRESS WIFE OF SEPTIMIUS SEVERUS. 
I. 

" It was no augur's dream. 

The bright stars which adorn 



166 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

The brow serene of ancient night 
Wrote with their rays o£ living light, 
' A royal child is born ! ' " 

Thus spake one glowing morn 

The Syrian maiden rare ; 
And to her forehead and her eye 
Come earnest thoughts enkindling high, — 

No crown she needs to wear 

To prove how grandly there 

Soul-life itself enthrones 
By its own nobleness, — by right 
Of a grand nature's gift of might 

Which all of life enzones. 

No petty king who owns 
Plis realm by Roman grace 
But Rome's great emperor has sent 
And, with the stars in full consent, 
Proffers their child her place. 

Henceforth her footstep's trace 
Shall be where Rome's behest 
May prompt her warlike emperor forth 
With world-wide sway to South or North, 
To East or sea-bound West. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 167 

II. 

On a pale mother's breast 

A pale young prince is lying, 
Slain by an elder brother's hand, 
Who in his crime could dare to stand 

That mother's heart defying. 

With the still dead is vying 
The hue of Julia Domna's face ; 

But when the fratricide is gone 

And Geta's look puts slowly on 
The glad triumphant grace 

Of one whose life apace 

Is drained by fatal wound, 
The mother's eye sees naught beside. 
To her swift dream he has not died 

Blood-drenched within the bound 

Of arms that close him round — 

Her dearest and her own, 

With love all measureless and fond, 

She feels the solemn, sacred bond 

Of motherhood alone. 

She murmurs in soft tone. 
As listening and not dead. 
Were he, her gentle and sweet prince. 



168 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

His look might any eye convince 
Again with agile tread, 

He must by honor led 

Go forth to claim his right, — 
Must wed as his young heart inclines 
The last child of the Antonines 

And reign in virtue's might. 

Ah, peaceful second sight 
For racking human woe 
Just on the verge of frenzy ! Read 
Even from the rapt look of our dead, 
It charms, it saves us so ! 



KING ANTHERIC'S ENVOY. 

*' Haste, haste, Theudalinda, the guest -cup to 

fill,— 
Your father commands, the Envoy waits still 
Whom the Lombard Autharis,* famed through the 

land, 
Has sent to King Garribald asking thy hand. 
Haste, haste, Theudalinda, 't is Monhild that 

calls, — 
The mandate is his who is lord of these walls. 

* The names are given in the verse as Gibbon gives them. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 169 

Thou knowest not wisely our feet linger still 
When the stern and the strong have spoken their 
wiU." 

One touch to the light golden ringlets she gave 
That loved on the snow of her forehead to wave, 
While earnest thought looked from the clear eyes 

blue, 
And flushing, and paleness, the changing cheek 

knew. 
She passed from her bower to answer the call 
Of the Sire long waiting for her in his hall. 

" Cease, cowardly tremors," she murmured aloud, 
" Like a slave's who was born 'neatli a lash to be 

bowed ! 
Autharis demands me, yet, I may love 
My home and my kindred his best claim above. 
I know him not, care not that warriors praise. 
And for him the loud minstrels ring forth their lays ; 
If he is but a stern bloody tyrant, I hate — 
Will spurn him though death the next hour be my 

fate. 

" Serene to the hall of the gods let me rise, 
And Odin may smile, or, the slow-beaming eyes 
Of some warrior who knew how to pity and love 
May be met as I pass to the palace above, — 
I heard of One such, — 't was a beautiful tale," — 



170 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

She raised her young- face, calm, dreamy, and pale. 
As a white-breasted swan in slow grace might glide, 
She entered the hall of the guests in the pride 
Of her beauty unrivaled whose far fame had 

brought 
The trusted envoy of Autharis who sought 
To make the rare maiden his own chosen bride, — 
But, the stranger sat silent by Garribald's side. 

The haughty old king of Bavaria's pride 

Rose high in his bosom, and '' dares he, the hound. 

To believe a fairer on earth can be found ! " 

Was the thought quickly kindled to fire in his 

eye,— 
But pause, — Theudalinda moves gracefully by 
With the cup, borne as hostess, high-born and at 

ease, 
To honor the guest she cares not to please. 
And lo, ere he tastes it, he kneels at her feet, 
And from his fixed eye steals forth hers to meet 
Love, love all resistless, — the cup's golden band 
Told not that he clasped it around her white hand. 

The maiden looked down on the form and the face, 
Low bending before her in manliest grace, 
BevvilJered, then quickly passed out from the hall. 

Told soon to her kind foster-mother was all, — 
How he, the false baron, her hand thus had pressed, 
The words of his CMrand unspoken, unguessed ; 



AND POETIC MYTH. 171 

Forgetting the king's love, by gesture and mien 
He rashly had dared cause his own to be seen. 
" But oh ! he was noble, my good Monhild dear ! 
With eyes dark and deep his forehead was clear 
In the beauty of Balder ; and closely was curled 
From lips all unrivaled I 'm sure in the world, 
Not the beard of the Lombard, but, soft as brown 

foam, 
'Twas like the eddying river of Rome." 

The kind foster-mother knew not how to speak, 
She kissed and soothed fondly the rose-flushing 

cheek, 
Half-fearing some vague nameless horror to come 
From heart-choice in wooing with ruin its sum. 

Below in the hall calm Garribald smiled. 
The guest to the Sire bent low as a child ; 
And asked that his pleading might quickly be seut 
To the proud gracious princess, with love reverent, 
Once more the sweet light of her beauty to bring 
To Autharis the Envoy, Autharis the King ; 
Who will evermore honor the maiden who knew 
To spurn the bold love, too hasty though true. 

Thus Garribald's daughter went forth we are told 
Content at the side of Autharis the bold ; 
And year after year as his radiant queen, 
Beloved for her beauty and virtue was seen ; 



172 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

And when to the spirit's far shadowy shore 
The valiant Autharis had passed, slie still wore 
The crown of the Lombards, and prized far before 
Its costliest jewels in number twice ten 
Its nail from the cross of the Saviour of 
men. 



A KEVERY WITH EARLY ENGLISH HISTORY. 

It is not in dreamland, 

It is not in sleep, 
But millions pass by me ; 

And silence more deep 
Than silence of slumber 

The thronging hosts keep. 

The present departing, 

The past to my soul 
Comes proudly, comes sadly, 

All thought to control ; 
The mists slowly vanish. 

Cloud-curtains uproll. 

Back, back through the time-land 

I turn to behold 
Humanity's pageant 

The real, the bold, 



AND POETIC MYTH. I73 

The high forms, the fair ones 
Of centuries old. 

'T is night, and the moonbeams 

Fall weirdly and still 
On rough shaggy forest, 

On river and rill ; 
And Stonehenge gleams ghastly, 

With boding of ill. 

Wild, fearful, the faces 

That gloomily lower 
Where night-loving Druids 

Seek mystical jDower, 
And rites all unholy 

Have sway of the hour. 

Beside the dread altar 

A pale maiden stands, 
Her golden hair rippling 

O'er thong-tortured hands, — 
Oh ! woe for the bright blood 

That gushed on the sands I 

From Britain the ancient 

The Caesars are gone, 
Caractacus, Vortigern, 

Vanquished pass on ; 



174 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

O'er Hengist and Horsa 
The death-dust lies strown. 

Morn breaks on the hilltops, 
And through the blue air 

The shrines of the Christ-king" 
Rise grandly and fair ; 

And Aldan and Cuthbert 
And Bede are there. 

No more the pure bosom 
Of beauty is bare 

To the knife of fiend -worship ; 
But, earnest and rare 

St. Hilda is claspnig 
The cross in her prayer. 

Crowned Alfred too bendeth 
To Him who was crowned 

With thorn-wreath of sorrow 
Where hills wait around 

The far olden city 
In mysteries bound. 




THE SCRIPTORIUM. 



AND POETIC MYTH 175 



EDWY. 



In young glowing manhood 
A bright form I see 

Of Alfred's own lineage 
For whom may not be 

The right to be happy, 
The right to be free. 



Fair Edwy, young Saxon, 

Thou droopest alone, 
And dim is thy crown's light. 

Grief-shadowed thy throne ; 
Thou askest no echoes 

Of fame's trumpet tone. 

The thought of thy lost bride 

Insulted, maligned, 
Despised and torn from thee, 

To tortures consigned, 
O'erwhelms with death's darkness 

And frenzy combined. 



176 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 



ETHELGIVA. 

Above a wild and lonely heath 

Stern-frowned a wintry sky, 
And whirled beneath was the snow's cold wreath 

As the wailing blast went by. 

The wailing blast from a leafless tree 

Passed chill to a forehead fair, 
And snowflakes be, and pearled jewelry 

Both in soft-clustered hair. 

Dim day went out in the darkening west, 
More wildly the storm-wind rose — 

Unblest, unblest, is the tender breast 
That finds no home's repose ! 

Why strays she there ? 't were dread to guess, 

And strange seems there, I ween. 
The bright excess of her loveliness 

Like that of a sceptred queen. 

A queen she was, though none had wrought 

For her a diadem. 
Unless far sought where a burning thought 

Out-glows a flashing gem. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 17T 



THE PURSUERS. 

They come ! they Lave found her, 

The bloody fangs tear, 
The hunted roe dieth 

In agonies there — 
O Christ of Gethsemane, 

Hear her mute prayer ! 

Christ of Gethsemane, 

Lain on thy heart 
Are the woes of long ages 

For us thy keen part. 
"We trust that earth's anguish 

Is healed where Thou art ! 

From the realm of the present 

Past sorrows we see, 
And, wronged Ethelgiva, 

Most tenderly we 
Will turn from red war-chiefs 

To Edwy and thee. 

For better is, surely, 

Love's grief-frenzied dream 
Than hatred of stern hearts 

More cruel than gleam 
The swords they dye crimson 

In life's wasted stream. 



178 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 



ANSELM. 

Anselm of Aosta 
With beautiful brow 

Of light like the Christ-king's, 
We bless thee, even now ! 

Thou taughtest grand wisdom 
In gentleness, thou ! 

No hunted hart perished 

Unpitiecl, in vain, 
At the feet of his palfrey. 

Which paused on the plain 
While passed a scared victim 

To gladness again. 

Before the Great Norman, 
Pure, gentle, and true. 

He stood with calm counsel ; 
And, wakening new, 

The best of a stern heart 
Smiled up into view. 

Anselm of Aosta 

With beautiful brow 

Of light like the Christ-king's, 
We bless thee, even now. 

Thou taughtest grand wisdom 
In gentleness, thou. 



AND POETIC MYTH 179 



THE CRUSADES. 

The Hermit comes with fervid eye 
And lifts the sacred cross on high, 
His rough serge mantle girt with care, 
His pilgrim foot worn gaunt and bare, — 
To eastward far he points the way, 
Kisses the cross and kneels to pray. 

Bernard with solemn voice and slow 
Proclaims, " God wills it thus," and, lo ! 
The nations move ; while far and wide 
Float kingly banners in their pride. 
Crowns glisten back the sunlight's beam, 
Plumes wave, and starry lances gleam ; 
The war-horse lifts his arching neck. 
And high baronial symbols deck 
And cloth of gold his plaited mail. 
Each strong bold charger boldly bears 
A knightly form erect who wears 
His armor-proof against the hail 

Of battle's ringing blows 
When chief to chief with brand to brand 
Or lance to lance from iron hand 

In awful conflict close. — 
But, hushed as death's own silence now 
The warriors pass with helmed brow ; 



180 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

And, prouder, bolder than the rest 
De Lion rides with mailed breast, 
With stalwart form and England's crest. 

Earth's conquerors by land or sea, 

Ye pride of war and chivalry, 

Your fame once flew from shore to shore. 

Your humbled dust earth finds no more, - 

And if a louder trumpet note 

Than ever rang across the moat 

Of leaguered castle smite the tomb 

To call from ages' slumbering gloom — 

Not barons, kings, to fancy's ken. 

But forms that once were mortal men, — 

Ah ! who will be the conquerors then ? 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE, 

OR, THE MARRIAGE OF CCEUR DE LION. 

Over the fair, the Cyprus isle 
Where Aphrodite from the sea 
Came floating, and her goddess smile 
Brightened in flowers on shore and tree, 
The sun still kindly, warmly shone, 
A freshening beauty wide was strown 
Thouffh armed hosts filled the island bowers 
And crushed to dust the spring-time flowers. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 181 

A mediaeval pile is bright 

With courtly splendor, and full light 

Beams from an altar. A small form 

White-robed and delicate is there 

With dainty cheek and lustre warm 

Of Spanish eyes, and hand so fair 

To touch it scarce should moi'tal dare, — 

Yet she, that creature of the air, 

Yields it to one whose giant strength 

Foes fear through Europe's breadth and length ; 

And though mail-glove is laid aside, 

That hand is one of martial pride, — 

For she is Cceur de Lion's bride. 

Diamonds and gold flash back the light 

From his broad breast and sword-hilt bright, 

And sapphires flash his sparkling eyes ; 

While closely curled in beauty lies 

Beneath his broidered headpiece rare 

On a white brow his golden hair. 

Ah, lion-heart, veiling thy might 

In satin fold and mantle white ! 

Ah, warrior, has the spell been found 

By which thy burning thoughts are bound 

To gentle scenes of quiet ? Nay : 

Lover and poet for a day 

May Coeur de Lion be, — 
Then onward to the surging strife 
Where death is lightly met as life 



182 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

His eager way we see ; 
And on the fields of Palestine 
He sweeps along the lengthened line 
Of wai'i'ing hosts, and fiercely free 

Strikes for the pilgrim's shrine ; 
Or, reins his brave war-horse with care, 
His lance firm-poised aloft in air, 

And challenges each foe, — 
While no dire Paynim wrath its storm 
Against that towering Mars-like form 

Dares hurl with fruitless blow. 
But ah ! erelong a prison's bound 
Shall close that fearless strength around, — 
And few the years now lingering 
Till death shall claim the haughty king. 

Within her distant abbey pile 
The gentle bride of Cyprus isle 
Shall kneel in saintly, shadowy stole 
And weep, and pray, " God rest his soul ! " 
Or, standing by her open gate, 
Watchful to bless the poor shall wait 

With daily generous dole ; 
And 'midst the grateful piteous crowd 
Sigh low one name, " My Richard proud, — 

God rest, God rest his soul ! " 



AND POETIC MYTH. 183 

THE FATEFUL HOUR* 

FIRST VOICE. 

Lion of England, king, 
Thy past was lived to bring 
Thee to the mystic ring 
Of this one hour. 

For this thy lion-heart, 
For this thy warlike art, 
Thy fame, which may depart. 
Were wrought to power. 

Arise in all thy might 
Up to the crowning height 
Of deeds now made thy right 
And service high ; 

Rise to thy pride of fame, 
With Godfrey's carve thy name 

* " The king was led by one of his train to a height from which 
Jerusalem could be plainly seen. With tears in his eyes, he 
threw down his arms, and, hiding his face with his shield, ex- 
claimed that he who was unable to rescue was unworthy to look 
on the sepulchre of Christ." — Strickland'' s Queens of Eng. 

" If Richard had gone forward with his accustomed bravery, 
the force he had would have taken the city ; for Saladin, already 
failing in health, was absent from Jerusalem, and the small gar- 
rison, dismayed at the coming of Richard, expected to surren- 
der." — Old History. 



184 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Rayed in the sacred flame 
Whicli cannot die. 



SECOND VOICE. 

Nay, Richard, pause, — fame might suffice 
If Godfrey's height you win, — 

Though wasting oil of sacrifice 
Burned his pure breast within ; 

And all he won from careless hands 
And weak ones passed away, — 

Across these chosen promise-lands 
Came back the Moslem sway. 

FIRST VOICE. 

Richard of England, king, 
Thy past was lived to bring 
Thee to the mystic ring 
Of this one hour. 

For this thy lion-heart, 
For this thy warlike art, 
Thy fame, which may depart. 
Were wrought to power. 

Thou may'st not choose thy way — 
The will thou know'st, obey. 
And God, thy strength and stay 
Shall ever be. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 186 

The city's towers behold, 
They and the Moslem gold, 
And victories untold 
Are all for thee. 

In spirit-strength arise. 
Dash sin's cloud froiu thine eyes, 
Strike, fearless, for the prize 
That waits thee yet. 

Philip is gone, — 't is well — 
Not his the favoring spell, — 
Thy name deep whispers tell, 
Plantagenet. 

SECOND VOICE. 

"What is the charm of this far land, 

These hills reared barrenly, 
This sun-scorched waste of blinding sand, > 

King Richard, what to thee ? 

What yields this land of hoary age — 

This land of Palestine ? 
Hunger and thirst, and fever's rage 

If touched the ruby wine. 

In pleasant France thy duchies smile 

With purple vineyards fair, — 
And Philip, with his hate and guile. 

Is busy, busy there. 



186 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

FIRST VOICE. 

Oh, lion-strength so brave, 
The desert and the cave 
Thy kingdom and thy grave 
Should chosen be. 

Vineyards, and feasts, and joy ! 
Let weak ones idly toy, 
And the shamed hours annoy 
With revelry. 

Lift thou thy mailed hand. 
Victorious warrior stand 
On yonder walls more grand 
Than Caesar won. 

Dream not of thronging foes, 
Of desert pains and woes, — 
Saladin swiftly goes 

Where war is done. 

Thy way is smoothly cast, 
Long shall thy victory last 
This fateful hour once past 
With strong true heart. 

Alas, too weak, too weak ! 
Tears on a haughty cheek ! — 
Tancred, De Courtenay, speak,- 
Nay, ye depart. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 187 

Woe for a coward choice ! 
Thy future has no voice 
To bid thy pride rejoice, 
Lion no more. 

A prison's walls await, 
A purchased freedom late, — 
Basely to die thy fate, 
For fame is o'er. 

BOTH VOICES. 

tChy work undone to other hands 

High heaven will not assign. 
Blood shall o'erquench the thirsty sands, 
It shall not win the shrine. 



EDWARD PLANTAGENET THE FIRST. 

Englajjd's great Edward, knight and king 
And earnest statesman, thought can bring 
Once more thy stern and war-worn face, 
And near thee on the canvas place 
Thy Eleanor, and him, the fair, 
Bright baby Edward, — nay, I dare 
Not look upon that picture ! Tears 
Forced and prophetic, scorning fears, 
O'erflow the dark and haughty eyes 
Crown-shadowed. Gorgon faces steal 



188 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Across the distance. SplencTors reel 
Like castellated clouds and sink 
In dai-kness, — gazers scarcely think 
How bold the outlined turrets rise 
Ere they have vanished. A prince dies 
Dishonored, and a worthier one, 
Cressy's young hero, his work done, 
In sculptured marble gleaming cold, 
His brave deeds by their trophies told, 
Lies on his early tomb, — around, 
Beyond, a darkly-closing bound 
Of prison-walls. O'erwhelmed by fraud 
And cruelty, proud Empress Maude, 
Perished thy last Plantagenet, 
Pale star in utter darkness set.* 

The gateways open stand to one wide hall, 
Unwelcomed and unspurned the guests come all ; 
King, prince, and peasant each finds ample room, 
Curtained, and still, and restful, — 't is not gloom» 

Life is the death, — if selfish, base. 
Then all is darkness. The white brow 
Lies down unsullied, and its place 
Speaks but of blessing when we bow 
And lis'-eii. 

Thou wast like thy race, 
Most Titan-like Plantagenet, 

* Richard II. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 189 

Proud and invincible ; and yet 

Edward of England's pictured face 

Wears troubled thought, and " sudden tears 

Forced and prophetic scorning fears, 

May well o'erflow the dark deep eyes 

C ro wn-sliado wed. ' ' 

Though thy England rise 
And name thee great and good and wise, 
The conqueror's stain rests full on thee — 
Blood, blood ! Oh, may thy tears yet be 
A mercy fount from justice stern 
To soften judgment. Thou didst learn 
In life, and from life's future borrow — 
Heaven pity thee ! — lessons of sorrow. 



"ONCE UPON A TIME." 

The stars were out, and the moon rode high 
Through the sapjjhire arch of the midnight sky, — 
But the revelers heeded not as she passed, 
Though saintly sweet was the smile she cast 
On lawn and forest and glassy stream, 
Fairer than all the festal gleam. 

'Twas a stately hall of the olden time. 

It had echoed oft to pleasure's chime, 

And again o'er the walls were garlands fair, — 

Soft wondrous music charmed the air, 

And the lamps shone down on a mazy throng 



190 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

That floated in music grace along. 

One joined them not. With nobler mien 

Than else in that gleaming hall was seen, 

Sternly and silent he turned aside, 

And his lips half -cursed, — was it pain or pride ? 

He gazed with cold and changeless eye 

While the jeweled train swejit gayly by. 

Then came a creature young and fair, — 

Almost a child, with waving hair, 

With stainless forehead, and dark bright eye, 

With spirit pure and lovely and high ; 

And the stern lips smiled, the eye grew mild, — 

He spoke in tones which oft have beguiled. 

To the maiden's heart stole their spell of might, — 

Her eyes confessed no softened light. 

Her lips smiled not, and you sought in vain 

On her marble cheek for the red-rose stain. 

Little they know love's fateful power 

Who wear it in joy for the festal hour ; 

Little they know of the deep soul's strife 

Who can shape to expression the wasting life. 

Some hearts there are that never know 

Of peace the tranquil and rippling flow, — 

Their pleasure scarce can the thrilled frame bear. 

Their pain is the horror of despair. 

Their love is a torrent's mad excess 

Which flows far more to waste than bless ; 

Yet with a still, unruffled mien 

And ivory brow they oft are seen, — 



AND POETIC MYTH. 191 

Such was the heart of that princess fair 
With the dark bright eye and silken hair. 
Oh ! why did he, her loftiest one, 
Of the haughty glance and low deep tone, 
Who had grasped all that earth can give of joy 
And turned in scorn from the mocking toy — 
Oh ! why did he wake from their lovely rest 
The jarring chords in that youthful breast ? 
Perchance he knew not what depths were stirred 
In that reckless hour by each low-breathed word, — 
Perchance he dreamed not in later years 
When all had been tested more bitter than tears 
That voice would come like the wintry blast, 
Not to bring sweet thoughts of a springtime past j 
But with cold mockery in its tone 
Haunting the silent spirit lone ; 
While from the corse of feeling dead 
Would wake self-scorn, the vampire dread. 

Away with the wearying, oft-told tale, — 
The novelist's dream and the poet's wail! 
This heart was one of a thousand more 
Which at idol fanes their wealth outpour, 
Crouching the high soul God has given. 
Kindred of angels and heir of heaven, 
To a worship low that cheats the quest 
With semblance of a portion blest, — 
Its loftier claim, the Indwelling Good, 
The pure heart's Light since creation stood. 



192 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 



THE GIFT. 

It was a snow-white dove ; and as it curved 
Its soft and stainless neck, and threw around 
The bright quick glances of its changeful eye, 
The lady watched it silently, and thought 
That thus in form a spirit guest might come 
From the far isles dreamed of, but never seen. 

And Rudolph stood before her. There was bound 
A slight and silken baldric on his breast, 
And a chased hunting-horn, and wavy hair 
Lay carelessly pressed back as he had come 
From woodland wandering. 

O'er that smooth brow 
Had passed the balmy and unruffling breath 
Of but some twenty summers, — but the eyes, 
Deep-veiled by long dark lashes from her sight 
When Constance came, were lit with fire and pride, 
And the stern haughty mold of all his features 
Had graced a high-born Roman in the age 
Of Caesars. 

The white dove was beautiful, 
But as she careless held against her vest 
Its pearly form, that calm-eyed lady's mien 
Grew troubled ; for she knew that while her life 
Was fading, and a shadow from the wing of time 
Had touched the brightness of her beauty, 



AND POETIC MYTH. JQg 

The first proud passionate love of a deep heart 
Was hers alone. . . . Lifting the snowy dove 
Toward the Italian heaven, she gently threw 
It ofp from her white hand, — to freedom's flio-hfc. 



THE BETROTHAL RING OF ST. CATHERINE. 

A MAIDEN sat in the glowing morn, 

And wove her garland fair 
Of leaves and buds and opening flowers, 

And her thoughts were a wordless prayer. 
The King came near — He wore no crown 

What joy can one moment bring ! 
" Be mme," He said, and his voice was sweet, — 

" Take from me this betrothal ring." 

She went her way as a priestess robed. 

Calm splendor serened her brow ; 
Nor to humbler joys and meaner loves 

Might her sealed young spirit bow. 
Yet her step grew faint on a desert path 

Where she saw no sheltering wing, 

The King stayed long, and, — oh, bitter pain I 

Lost was the betrothal ring. 

She sank down lowly in deepest nio-ht 
Where the maiden once sat in the morn, 



194 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

And tears wet the garland, all broken and dim, 

As memory whispered forlorn. 
Then One came near in robes of light, — 

'T was the glorious, radiant King ! 
He breathed not of wrath, but graciously gave 

Anew the betrothal ring. 

" Wait, calmly wait, my loved, my bride," 

His kind voice murmured low, — 
" Thy richest treasures of life and soul 
Must be wrought by a process slow. 
Wait, calmly wait, in truth and love 

Till thee to my home I bring ; 
Then shalt thou know an unmeasured trust 
Was this, thy betrothal ring." 



SAWDA'S DREAM. 

She nursed his child * 

And loved her well, 
Bound to the sire 

By riveless spell. 

He loved not her,t — 

She did not weep ; 
Her own heart's love 

'T was joy to keep. 

* Fatinia, 

t Sawda was Mahomet's unloved wife, — the only unloved one* 



AND POETIC MYTH. 195 

Sundered afar, 

In visions came 
The palm-like form, 

That eye of flame. 

Those dark, deep eyes 
That burned and gleamed 

'Neath turbaned brow — 
Ah, fondly dreamed — 

Looked kind on her, — 

And, seeking rest. 
The Prophet's head 

Lay on her breast. 



"THE LITTLE QUEEN." 

A mistake with regard to Isabella of Valois, wife of Richard II. 
of England, is gathered from Shakespeare, where she is made to 
use language which could only be possible for a matron of mature 
years. 

Eichard, being required to marry that the direct royal line of 
Plantagenet might last, selected the most fair and good of the 
fair daughters of Charles VI. and his queen Isabeau. When his 
ministers objected to the youth of the princess, a child of nine 
years, the king replied, " It is a fault which will daUy grow 
less." We may conclude that he wished, while caring for the 
beautiful child as for a sister, to give his own heart the time to 
forget the loss of his first beloved and excellent queen, Anne of 
Bohemia. The king, at the time of his second marriage, was 
twenty-eight years of age. 



196 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

The love which gradually developed between Richard II. and 
Isabella of Valois was a thing delicate and lovely among the loves 
of earth. The memory of his beautiful face, his refined tender- 
ness, and his cruel fate, made the child-widow averse to the utmost 
persuasion of Henry IV. and his warlike son, then Prince of 
Wales, to remain in England and again be England's Queen. She 
died at the early age of twenty-two years. 

(lady de courcy speaks.) 

" Sweet Queen and Princess Isabel, 

Now leave thy harp, I pray, 
Before the morning hours are passed 

The King will come to-day. 
When earliest matin chants were played 

I saw, where the sunrise shone 
Across his favorite colonnade. 

King Richard stand alone 
In his mantle with its ermine white, 
And he waved his hand with a smile most bright 

To say he would see his bride. 
Now come from lessons, my Lady Queen, 
He loves thy beauty in jewel sheen — 

Leave harp and books aside. 

" I will robe thy form in pale-rose silk, — 
Thy flesh as the spotless, creamless milk 

Is wholly and sweetly fair. 
That thy foot shall shame a fairy sprite, 
Thy girdle the slender wood-nymph's bright 
Will need no earnest care. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 197 

Thy curls shall be held in the pearl's soft grasp, 
Thy sleeve shall have a diamond clasp, 

And filmy lace shall fall, 
A modest charm, a witching spell. 
That suits thy virgin youth full well, 
A white mist over all ; 

And when with pleased surprise 
The king shall see his jewel set 
In jewels, he will all forget 

In one glance of thy radiant eyes. 
The earnest truth, the childlike light 
Shall seem than jewels far more bright." 

King Richard came, and a gentle smile 
Played o'er his lips at the j^retty style 
Of his baby queen with the black bright eyes 
In the ivory field that around them lies. 
He gallantly lifted the lace-robed form 
And kissed the red lips soft and warm, 
Then playful knelt to the jeweled hand 
And said, " Is your will, my Lady grand, 

To smile on my heart to-day ? 
Will you sing a song, and show your power 
To wile me away to a magic bower 

And treasures of genii display ? " 

" I will do just this, my king and lord, 
I wiU lead you safe through watch and ward, 



198 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

I will show you many a precious thing 
Which none from genii reahns can bring, — 
Nor need we leave fair Windsor's halls, 
We may find our quest within these walls. 
First let us go to the cloisters dim, 
I would sing a sacred morning hymn, — 
The brightest hours will brighter be 
For a worship thought's pure ministry." 

The hymn was sung, and its cadence mild 
Repeated soft the joyful child 
As they wandered through the ancient tower 
Historic still of Norman power. 
Erelong they reach the chosen place 
Where, later, dwelt her royal grace, 
The brave and proud Elisabeth ; • 
And where their first of mortal breath 
Drew princesses and princes fair, — 
And some to sigh in sorrow there. 

Young Isabella sought no sign 
Of the coming great or joyless line 

Of England's royalty ; 
But, gayly bounding, she said, " I '11 hide, — 
King Richard, follow and find thy bride, — 

May it not weary thee ! " 
He saw her glide with a smile away, 
And quickly followed in mood as gay 
Where, courteous in parting, with graceful sway 



AND POETIC MYTH. 199 

He saw her white arm tossed. 
He passed through stony arches old, — 
Their shadows fell like sudden cold 
On pulses that brooked not the stern and drear. 
But were true to love, and knew not fear. 
Where could the princess fly so fast? 
Had she from earth forever passed 
She could not seem more lost. 
A look of pain on his features fell, 
He called, " Come back, my Isabel ! " 

And the sorrow of the tone 
Brought soon from shadows far and dim 
The welcome joy-bird back to him. 

The dove which too far had flown. 

He drew her closely to his side 

And murmured, " Say, my fairy bride, 

When a few more years are past 
Will you love me true and love me well ? 
Can it be, my winsome Isabel, 

I shall gain thy heart at last ? " 

She raised her look with still surprise, — 
But a smile soon dawned in the earnest eyes ; 
She spoke in gentle flattering grace, 
Playfully scanning his form and face. 

*' Thine eyes are clear as the morning light. 
Thy cheek rose-hued, thy brow is white, 



200 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Thy teeth are perfect, thy lips a spell 
To steal the heart of Isabel ; 
Thy ermined mantle is gracefully worn — 
Thou art king of England this merry morn, 
Thou art good and kind as a brother dear, — 
Why should I not love thee ? never fear. 
And now go hide in the loneliest spot, — 
And see if thy little queen finds thee not." 

*' Nay, talk not, sweet, of lonely places, 
Nor of hiding away from best-loved faces. 
Let us walk where toward the sparkling river 
The gallery hangs, and in sunlight and breeze 
We can see on the shore the emerald trees 

With joy and thankfulness quiver. 
Thy hand on my arm, thy smile in my heart, 
I will dream that a king in life's gladness has part — 

Let us look on the fair-flowing river." 

Ah ! leave them now in their stainless love 
While yet their sky shines blue above, — 
The one who of sorrow knows no dream, 
And the one who forgets it awhile in the beam 

That brightens o'er him and the river. 
Yes, leave them, nor think of coming hours 
When another shall claim the king's high bowers : 
Leave them, nor draw the veil aside 
Prom Richard's fate, — his brave child-bride 

Shall be true to her heart's last quiver. 



AND POETIC MYTn. 201 



THE PRISONER'S WAKING THOUGHTS. 

"Ah, who can name them all, the ills of humanity, in their 
manifold pale dispensations ? There are crime and sickness, the 
shriek of despair, and the long deep silent torture. ' ' — Bremer. 

The wintry morn once more 
With dreary, chilling, and unwelcome glare 
Finds the barred horror of my prison-door. 
Where lurks despair. 

Too soon thou tak'st thy flight, 
Oblivious sleep, this wasted life's best boon, 
And thou, O kindly-shadowing night. 
Far, far too soon. 

Though weary dreams must lie 
Where lies this weary head, and lurid gleams 
Flit o'er my sleep's serenest sky. 
They still are dreams : 

But morning brings worse dole 
Of maddening thoughts with its ungentle beam 
Which tell in anguish on my soul. 
They are no dream. 

Without, the northern blast 
Sweeps whirling on, and from each desolate bough 
The last frail withered leaves are cast 
Unpitied now. 



202 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Fixed is dire winter's reign, — 
Each pale untimely flower from the cold skies 
Shrinks low to the unsheltering plain — 
No more to rise. 

Bright visions cherished long, 
Youth's holy hope and aspiration high, 
Beneath worse storm of hate and wrong, 
Ye, too, must die. 



« THE FAIREST THING TO MORTAL EYES." * 

" My lady, my lily," — ah, where am I now ? 
The breath of thy lips touched light on my brow. 
But thy filmy robe floated away through the night, 

" Thou fairest thing to mortal sight." 

'T was a dream, yet so lovely she bent o'er my sleep 
I waken to bless her, I waken to weep ; 

* Charles, the poet Duke of Orleans, was by order and will of 
Henry V. of Lancaster consigned to a severe imprisonment of 
twenty-two years in the Tower of London, for no fault but his 
virtues, added to the fact that he was second in heirship to the 
crown of France ; and the other fact, it may be, that for one year 
ho was the husband of the beautiful Isabella of Valois, whom 
Henry, as vainly as persistently, had sought to win. 

Orleans came into the hands of Henry V. as prisoner of war at 
Agincourt, and all ransom for him was refused. 

The imprisoned Duke mourned for the dead Princess by tho 
titles quoted in the poem. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 203 

Peace hushes ray spirit, my lone heart still sighs, 
" Thou fairest thing to mortal eyes." 

" My lady, my lily," thy beautiful form 
No grief can restore me, no tenderness warm ; 
Cold, lonely, and silent and sacred it lies, 
And seen no more by mortal eyes. 

She loved him, ah, truly, her Richard, the king. 
She wept when our kindred, unresting, would bring 
The pale royal flower to my bosom a bride, — 
They brought her, and here on my bosom she died. 

King Richard had won her with saintliest art 
That spared the sweet form while gaining the 

heart, — 
She turned to his memory, the martyred, the dead, 
As a youth-dream unfinished, a page left unread. 

Fierce Henry, in vain that bold hand of thine 
Was laid on the outermost gate of the shrine 
Where thy victim could dwell love-remembered 

each hour 
Beyond thy fell hate and the craft of thy power. 

I loved her, — I loved her, the truthful and fair, 
For her Henry's prison could willingly dare, — 
If I die here, what sorrow ? my heart daily dies 
For my lady the rarest to mortal eyes. 



204 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 



ELISABETH. 



Geeat margin queen, 
Thy weary name 
Should rest with fame, 

Far from the scene 

Where owl dominion 
Of blind opinion 

For faults will glean. 

We cannot say 

Thy lily hand 

Ne'er moved the brand 
In fearful way, 

Despite its beauty 

And sovereign duty, 
'Neath passion's sway. 

We will not dream 

Thy woman's heart 
Held light its part 

To quench love's beam, — 
Love vainly loyal, 
Love high and royal, 

A varied gleam. 

Yet all must own 
This ever true. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 205 

Thy England grew 
Around thy throne 
And life all "•lowinof, — 

While peace bestowing 
With welcome tone. 



CONSTANTINE THE ELEVENTH. 

Alone in a winter midnig'ht 
Which solitude made drear, 

I read from history's volume 
With the frequent starting tear. 

Without my study windows 

The pine-trees, sighing low, 
Kept time to my mournful musing 

O'er a page of human woe. 

It told of him, the latest, 
The brave, sad Constantino, 

Whose bright imperial eagles 
Veiled low their golden sign, 

Whose crown of unmeasured sorrow- 
Came to his brow unsought, — 

Its splendor, its shame, and its torture. 
In the shadows of destiny wrought. 



206 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Oh! grand were the forms lowly kneeling,* 
The last of the worthy and brave, 

In the Church of St. Sophia 

Faith's emblems that " last night " to crave. 

Oh ! the wail of despair from his palace ! 

Oh ! the grief of his deep-heaving breast, 
As Constantine rode through the darkness, 

The lost one — the doomed, — yet the blest I 

His Georgian princess is waiting 
For his galleys to come o'er the sea 

And bear her in joy and in beauty 
His empress bride to be ; 

And noble hearts gather around him, 

Steel-true to his latest breath, — 
No change can seal him a tyrant. 

And ages shall honor his death. 

I started — my lamp burned no longer, 

Raindrops plashed without on the snow, — 

I blessed them that they were weeping 
For a grief of long ago. 

* " They wept, they devoted their lives. The Emperor paused 
a few moments in his palace, which resounded with cries and 
lamentations. Mounting a horse, he then rode through the city, 
visiting the guards and watching the enemy. ' ' — Gibbon. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 207 



ORION. 



He comes when comes the storm wind's wrath 

To the ocean-wanderer's way ; 
He moves on his stern and awful path 

When the wrecking surges sway ; 
And yet he seems an envoy rare 

From all that is holy and high, 
And we list for the message his bright stars bear 

In the hosts of the nightly sky. 

O wouldst thou speak ! thou who hast been 

With the march of the nameless years, — 
Thy searching eye has surely seen 

What we dream of with hopes and fears. 
Thou mayest be near to the land of wings 

With knowledge full-orbed thy estate, 
Mayest echo the lofty song that rings 

Through Alcyone's pearly gate. 

O wouldst thou speak ! but our eager thought 

Unanswered trembles back, 
Mysterious space is thine, and naught 

Unveils thy boundless track. 
Vast, silent splendor, shining still 

O'er earth with its life and death. 
We know thou art his whose regnant will 

Makes peaceful our daily breath. 



208 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Thy starry " bands " flash diamond light 

To the toiling restless brain, 
We see thee changeless, calm, and bright 

Beyond earth's power or pain ; 
And we think of priceless gifts, like thee 

That neither fade nor die, 
But smile above time's troubled sea 

Till night and shadows fly. 

Thou art an emblem of all things rare 

And best to our human thought, 
Strength, constancy, truth, are surely there 

With thy heraldry inwrought ; 
For thy watching form has never failed 

Its heaven-appointed hour 
Since first the hills the sunlight hailed 

Or the moon lit the forest bower. 

Once gazed on thee clear glorious eyes 

Whose light to earth is lost, 
As thine when cloud mists darkly rise 

And our way by storms is crossed. 
The clouds pass by, and thy silver ray 

Is part of a purer even, — 
So the proud light veiled from our shadowed way 

May glow once more in heaven. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 209 



OUR COUNTRY'S DEAD. 

Ah ! gently name them, — that noLle band. 

Brave manly forms are sleeping, 
And brows once grand with kingly thought 

Cold blood-stained graves are keeping. 

They went from the halls of learning fair, 

Calm sage and yovmg aspirant. 
From the statesman's desk and the temple gate, • 

Hands which ne'er struck with tyrant. 

Their blood, their lives, they valued not 
In truth's great cause contending, — 

Wrong was the foe they sternly fought. 
Justice and right defending. 

They fought, they fell, and vacant mourn 
Their dear and honored places, — 

More dimly yet lone hearth-fires burn 
Unlit by cherished faces. 

And he,* our truest, worthiest name 
Still in strange heart-throbs spoken, — 

Ah, vain our grief ! How sadly vain 
Each monumental token ! 

* Lincoln. 



210 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

He sleeps in dust whose lofty soul 
Bore a dark, heavy burden, — 

And for that wasting toil of years 
The traitor's blow his guerdon. 

No, no ! not thus — not thus the doom 
Our deathless martyr beareth, — 

Eternal years alone can sum 
The jewel crown he weareth. 

A noble band are our country's dead, — 
Brave manl}'^ forms are sleeping ; 

And they who sowed in deathless hope 
Have passed to glorious reaping. 



A FRAGMENT. 

There was a being once — 
My brother ? yes, I name him so. 

A mind 
Free, self-dependent, high, had stamped command 
On all the marble of a regnant brow ; 
And seemed his eye like an unfathomed wave, 
A full dark wave, by the sweet morning beam 
Of warm and pure affections kindled. It 
Was beautiful. 

Oh, I have seen him stand 
With that mysterious light the spirit sheds 



AND POETIC MYTH. 211 

When, the dull clay o'ermastering, it asserts 

Its own unearthly lineage and trust, 

Paling his features ; and a thousand gazed 

With pausing breath, and life-pulse wildly stirred 

As by a trumpet's tone. And soon I marked 

A tear, strange visitant, steal to stern eyes. 

While in a voice low, musical and deep 

As is the flow of an earth-hidden river, 

New thrilling thoughts, fraught with a chastening 

power, 
Sank to the searchless caves of each hushed life 
To linger there forever. 

It is blest 
Here in this mocking world, where even love, 
Which some esteem a brimming cup of joy, 
Tasted, can scarce be told from bitterness — 
It is most blest if mind, if reasoning thought. 
May bend them too in all the heart's quick homage. 
I proudly loved. Beneath the one broad bough' 
Of a rent oak I rested feai4essly 
Nor dreamed of darkened sky nor hurrying sweep 
Of the cold, blighting north-wind, — yet they came. 
He drooped — even he — and wearily lay down 
In the damp churchyard ; and he would not speak, 
Though in the very tone once loved I breathed 
His name, and kept long vigil drear and cold 
Mantled in more than graveyard darkness. 

Yet once — oh, once he came ! It was not there 
Where boughs wave calmly and the senseless clods 



212 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Press on the pulseless heart ; but I had strayed 
Along the fair aisle of a sanctuary, 
And there, consumed of all the wretchedness 
Within me, stood among the worshipers. 

Low tones, sweet, sacred, solemn, rose and sank, — 

Then rose and swelled to music such as might 

Be heard in heaven, earth's deepest sorrowing 

prayer 
Blent with an angel anthem. Swiftly then 
The tight black cord of selfish pain was riven 
And my free spirit knelt before its God. 

Thoughts came, white-winged and softly beautiful 
As altar doves, shedding their light around. 
And he too came. Unseen by other eyes 
He brightly stood beside me, while his hand 
Lay on my aching forehead, — never since 
The kindling fever of the heart's unrest 
Has mounted there. 



BUEIED FROM THE BATTLEFIELD.* 

Over his mantled breast, turf lie thou lightly, — 
Stranger hands smooth it, oh ! gently and rightly, — 
Beautiful boughs should wave over his resting, 
Sunbeams he loved should the scene be investing. 

* The Wilderness. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 213 

By our young soldier's grave breathe a deep prayer, 
Heaven's peace enclasp him now, saved from all 

care ; 
War of its tumult wild leaves not a seeming — 
Hushed is the throbbing pulse, voiceless his dream- 
ing. 

Soft on the marble brow dark hair is lying, 
Slow from the placid lips memories are dying, — 
Soul of the hero's form, where art thou straying ? 
Hearest thou a wondrous harp — or the boughs 
swaying ? 

Over his mantled breast, turf lie thou lightly. 
Far from this earthly scene, spirit soar brightly. 
Low stoop the angel guard, hymning sweet morrow, 
Child of the Lord of life, thou hast no sorrow ! 

THE VOYAGERS. 

This poem was suggested by a remark as follows : — 

"I sometimes think of the temptations of life as islands, where 
we are allured to stop, and relinquish the grand object of our 
quest, the land of Beulah or union with God." 

The first island passed by the voyagers of the poem is Worldli- 
ness ; the second. Worldly Pleasure. 

They are then allured by the rich and varied voices of Science, 
Learning, and Poetry to the high rocky island of intellectual Self- 
Worship. Under this island is the dangerous cavern of Unbelief. 
The example portraits it is unnecessary to recognize. 



214 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

The storm represents the outbiirsting' malice of the soul-tempt- 
er ; after which the weary voyagers are wafted to Beulah's Isle, 
close by the Eternal Shore. 

I. 

Freighted witli hope, unwearied and unworn, 
A venturous band o'er smiling seas were borne. 
A venturous band in youthful presence rare, 
And clad for voyaging with shrewdest care, 
At morn unmoored their new and brave trireme. 
Each graceful form erect, they boldly seem 
To grasp for life or death the ready oar 
Ere drawn the vigorous strokes that spurned the 

shore. 
No galley slaves were these, chained to a task, 
Who vainly for heaven's light of beauty ask, — 
But freeborn souls to one great purpose given, 
A j)urpose like the vaulted skies unriven. 
Sweet, full, and clear arose their parting song. 
Which shoreward rocks in echoes still prolong. 

Away. 

Away, away to the unknown land. 
Wherever its bright hills lie, — 

To the gleaming founts and the golden strand — 

Away, away to the wondrous land — 
Strong oars, and steady eye ! 

Away ! before us the white dove flies, 
And signals are shining fair. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 215 

Bright banners that waving, floating, rise 
Till they seem white clouds of the summer skies, 
Love's wordless meaning there. 

Away, away from the haunted isles 

Where the High-king dwelleth not, 

Where comes no light of his greeting smiles, 

But a siren song the ear beguiles. 

And dark is the wanderer's lot ! 

Away, away, while the life-bells toll, — 

Listen, and hear them say 
That vain is the vision, and false is the goal 
Which meets not the pleading and sigh of the soul ; 

Away, to life's home, away ! 

Onward they passed amid the waters blue. 

As if with unseen wings their swift ship flew, — 

And soon they marked, a slow mist swept away^' 

That on their left a long low island lay. 

Unnumbered ships were anchored at its side, 

And countless throngs beyond might be descried, 

A city's walls, too, plainly might be seen. 

And from those walls — no grateful pause between. 

Stole out a busy hum, a restless clang, — 

The voyagers swept on, and gladly sang. 

No tempting lure to young and guileless soids 
Are the world's thronging marts where ever rolls 



216 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

The deep and sullen tide of selfish thought, — 
Where conscience, pity, love, are sold and bought, 
Where nature's purer voices all are hushed, — 
Where God is forgotten, and hearts are crushed. 

II. 

Erelong the sun rose high with fervid heat, — 
The rowers paused just where a cool retreat, 
A beauteous isle lay close beside their track, — 
It seemed lost Paradise slow-floating back. 
Green, velvet lawns for weary feet were there, 
Leaves rustled music to the sunbright air, 
On fairy arches graceful garlands hung. 
Light creeping plants round sculptured vases clung, 
Statues and bowers, and gorgeous flowering trees 
Threw out a halo on the clasping seas ; 
And on the shore, close by the waters cold, 
W^as spread a rich pavilion, all of gold 
And royal purple wrought. Beneath was one 
In kingly robes at ease reclining. None, 
Save maidens strangely beautiful and fair. 
With pearl-bound tresses of long wavy hair, 
Were linger in c: near him. His averted face 
The voyagers saw not, but marked the grace 
Of a slight hand, white as the lily's whiteness, 
Glowing with gems of matchless diamond brightness. 

With trailing oars, with thoughts and eyes intent, 
Nearer their floating prow and nearer went 



AND POETIC MYTH. 217 

Until a heaving wave with gentle guile 
Stranded it fully on the ocean isle. 
The kingly form slowly his head upraised, 
And turning with fixed face in silence gazed. 
That face ! ah, who on it would look again ? — 
So haggard, pale, as with despair or pain ! 
Though fiery light lay in the sunken eye, 
'T was light on wreck, revealed more fearfully. 

In blank amaze the youthful band drav/ near. 
A creeping horror seems almost a fear. 
Until a voice, low, tremulous, and weak, 
Grown old before its time, was heard to speak. 
" This is the treacherous isle of Pleasure ; fly — 
Fly while you may, ere you are chained — to die ! " 

With deepest pity moved, " And go thou too," 
Orestes gently said, " for it is true 
A land is found where tortured souls may rest, - 
A land where mercy dwells and love is blest ; 
That peaceful land we seek, beyond the waste 
Of ocean, — there no danger larks — oh, haste ! " 
And gathering near, low-toned with earnest care, 
Young lips breathed out their song like humble 
prayer. 

Hushed grew the notes, for bitter, bitter pain 
Convulsed those pallid features, — " it is vain — 
Too late — the winecup, Myrrha ! " and he tried 



218 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

To touch the golden cup once more, — but died; 
And royal hands in mocking jewels drest 
Sank, pale and pulseless, on a pulseless breast. 

Sadder and wiser, on the waves once more. 
The voyagers give thanks, with lifted oar ; 
And frequently, with chastened lips, they say 
The watchword of their song, " Away, away ! " 

III. 

Steals from afar a music strange and sweet, — 
Quick-listening ears strain tensely still to greet 
The wandering notes. Is it the welcome home ? 
Are they in sound of harping from the dome 
Of far-sought mansions ? No ! — above, around, 
Before them and behind them wakes the sound 
Bewitching and bewildering, — and, listen ! 
A piercing sadness bids the teardrop glisten. 
Ah ! haunting melody, too sweet for earth, 
Too sad for heaven, whence hadst thou thy weird 
birth? 

They had not swerved to right nor left their track, 
Nor with spent force nor carelessly turned back. 
When, close-revealed to their astonished gaze. 
Veiled in a robe of purple-golden haze, 
An island stood, rock-girt and mountain-crested ; 
And from its beetling crags which the waves 
breasted 



AND POETIC MYTH. 219 

Hung clustering vines ; and foliage rich and rare 
Of high majestic groves rose here and there. 
Amidst them beings moved, and wings seemed 

glancing, 
Trumpets, and plumes, and banners seemed advan- 
cing. 
Naught could the voyagers know, for a rich maze 
Grew all things through that gorgeous-purple haze. 

With impulse deep each mind essays to bring 

Back from a brief and troubled wandering 

The thoughts which ever can full brightly wing 

Life with undying gladness ; but, lo, now 

A rushing galley just across their bow, 

Sweeping to foam the waters, dashed its prow. 

Within it rose a form, erect and bold, — 

His gleaming forehead a bright history told 

Of thought's all-wondrous power. His graceful 

hair 
Fell back in clustered curls from temples fair 
As, oarless, helmless, on his dazzling way. 
His haughty mien, though silent, seemed to say : 
If as a master I my hand shall lay 
Upon the " ocean's mane," it will obey. 

To the veiled island his bright darkening eye 
Looked forth as might a conqueror's — but why 
That sudden veering ? Has remorseless, dire 
Though unseen fate tracked him with stealthy ire? 



220 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Alas ! alas ! for now tlie voyagers mark 

A vast and deep-mouthed cavern yawning dark 

Beneath the vine-wreaths of the magic isle ; 

And to it tending, like some fatal wile, 

A swift, resistless current. He is there, 

The proud, fair, fearless masker. Vain the prayer 

The trembling voyagers breathed, — he passed 

from sight 
Within the rocky cavern black as night. 

Sad were the young bright brows low-drooping o'er 
The hands which grasped the pausing oars once 

more ; 
But soon another wanderer passed before 
Their loitering way. Not proud and bold the glow 
Of his pale, chiseled features, — one miglit know 
Naught save soul pain could waste the cold cheek so. 
A shadow raven -black, a fearful thing, 
Sat on his shallop's prow with folded wing. 
O dark and dying spirit ! yet the light 
Of genius, rare and beautiful and bright. 
Beamed in his downcast eye. Deep pity shook 
Each gazer's heart, as wrai:)i3ing o'er his breast 
With a dark mantle's fold he slowly took 
His devious way — oh ! might it be — to rest. 
Wrung with sad doubt, the voyagers wildly cried, 
" Father in heaven, save from the cavern tide ! " 
They turned in haste to shun the dangerous spot, — 
Again in fear they look, they see him not. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 221 

Then low each voice as with concerted thought 
Joined, by a deep impulse divinely taught, 
Each other, thus : " Never my dwelling be 
In realms where worship finds no Deity, — 
Where man, poor favorite of a passing hour, 
Bui" (Is tinsel shrines and claims his meagre dower 
Of gifts and incense till another near, 
With gaudier tinsel and no virtuous fear. 
Passes and spurns him, — while earth's myriads pine 
With lingering hopes that more and more decline ; 
And in life's waste the shallow cisterns burst 
Ail-vainly trusted for their spirit thirst." 

Away, away, while the life-bells toll, — 

Listen, and hear them say 
That vain is the vision, and false is the goal 
That meets not the pleading and sigh of the soul — 

Away — to life's home — away ! 

To the land where are no weeping eyes, 
Where death no more is found — 

Where, under the pearly pitying skies, 

All pain is lost, all sorrow flies, 

And the key-notes of being sound ! 

Away, away to the wondrous land 

Where our hopes and wishes stray — 

To the gleaming founts and the golden strand —" 

Away, away to the unseen land — 
To the Beulali land away ! 



222 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Away ! Before us the wliite dove flies, 

And signals are shining fair, 
Bright banners that waving, floating, rise 
Till they seem soft clouds of the summer skies. 

Love's wordless meaning there. 

" Speed ye, brave voyagers, to find the land 
Of ' gleaming fountains and the golden strand ' 
Which ye are seeking with so earnest mien ! 
Is it so fair ? have ye, — ah, who have seen ? " 
Thus mocked a half-heard voice through waves or 

air 
And bade the voyagers of foe beware. 
They turned their eyes where lay their compass 

true 
Pointing still onward, and in vigor new 
Bent to their oars ; then with assurance bright 
They said, " At evening time it shall be light.'* 

But, lo ! instead of light, a darkness crept 
Along the waters. Slowly onward swept 
And heavily the growing waves before 
A dread advancing tempest. 

More and more 
Upreared the foam-capt surges, till a whirled 
Chaos of elemental strife unfurled 
Its ensigns, and fierce winds and blinding spray 
Breasted and tossed and maddened round their 
way. 



AFTER THE STORWI. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 223 

Now shall true hearts grow weak and feebly shrink 

From the wild terrors, then forever sink ? 

Shall the brave voyagers their trust deny, 

And back to Pleasure's isle for shelter fly? 

They only grasp their oars with deeper care 

And raise their thoughts to heaven with wordless 

prayer. 
Safely they floated, as the ancient ark, 
For standing there within their favored bark 
When night sank on the ocean, was a bright 
Peace messenger, and made the darkness light ; 
And peace was breathed to each tired voyager's 

breast 
While 'neath the angel's wing they sank to rest. 



IV. 

Far was their sailing ere the morning broke, > 
By might of heavenly ministry. They woke 
With anchor dropped in a clear circling bay, 
Whose lucid waves in slow sweet music play 
On the bright pebbles of a fairer shore 
Than they, except in dreams, had seen before. 
Green graceful slopes led upward from the beach. 
Varied with groves, far as the eye could reach ; 
And midst the sylvan beauty of the scene 
Distant uprose a lofty fountain's sheen. 



224 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

A form drew near with white-browed thoughtful 

face, 
And cl;id in robe of full and stainless grace, — 
He tuiiied him to the shore and raised his hand 
In couitsous welcome. 

Soon beside him stand 
The voyagers who, by their looks besought 
Answer to all the mystery of their thought. 

With smiling speech the stranger answered : " No : 
To reach the ' Father's house ' you still must go 
Out on the waters one brief voyage more ; 
But then the Father's barge will touch this shore 
And safe will be the convoy. This fair isle 
Is Beulah, calm in heaven's unceasing smile, 
Where weary voyagers find welcome rest 
And learn the one pure language of the blest. 

" In the bright land of ' mansions ' fountains flow 
Whose new sweet waters earth may never know ; 
But sometimes to fair Beulah floateth o'er 
The gleaming pearl light of that other shore ; 
And shine the crystal sea, and life's far river, — 
Praises eternal be to Him, the Giver ! 

" Come now with me to our high fountain. There 
We draw our life, and gladly learn to wear 
Even as a garland the Great Father's will, — 
We touch its waters and our pulses thrill 



AND POETIC MYTH. 225 

With rapturous joy; while all our robes grow 

white 
Beneath the benediction of its light." 

As they draw near more frequently they see 
The blest inhabitants pass courteously. 
Fair white-souled maiden friends with arms en- 
twined 
Move slowly in sweet converse. Peaceful mind 
Looks out from every eye, and oft a face 
Is fraught with meanings of unearthly grace 
On which some far-off glory seems to shine — 
A light, a crystal beauty all divine. 

That wondrous Fountain ! lo, each voyager stands 

Beside it with upraised and clasping hands. 

The grand majestic cross uplift in air 

Bears not the stainless victim suffering there. 

Its rugged arms a loved memorial seem, 

O'erhung, as in the beauty of a dream, 

With passion-flower. Close by its foot upsprung. 

High and afar in sparkling currents flung. 

The hallowed fount, — one half in diamond light, 

One half to crimson flushing. From the bright 

Clear wealth of living waves no marble rim 

Turned back the eager step that sought its brim ; 

But golden sands, pearl-sprinkled, led the way 

Where even an infant's feet may safely stray. 



226 STUDIES WITH HISTORY 

Thou, sacred Fountain, into crimson blushing 
For man's deep shame, within thy Presence hushing 
My spirit kneels. Strength in the place of weak- 
ness, 
Warmth over all thought's realm of dreary bleak- 
ness, 
Light through the darkest clouds still softly shining, 
Immortal hope around death-sorrow twining, — 
These are thy gifts, — Thine, Living Fountain, 

Thine, 
Kedeemer, Saviour, — ours ! and yet Divine ! 

LET ME WEEP. 

*'The broken and the contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not 
despise. ' ' 

Yes, let me v/eep, — it soothes my heart 
When wearied and oppressed, — 

Vain hopes and earth-born joys, depart — 
Oh, let me weep, and rest ! 

Yes, let me weep ; and the earth-stain 

Is gently borne away, — 
The stain infixed by wrong and j)ain 

That hides the soul's pure ray. 

Yes, let me weep ; for then arise 

Within my troubled breast 
Faith tluough the world's Great Sacrifice, 

And love that giveth rest. 



AND POETIC MYTH. 227 

MY « ANGEL OF THE COVENANT.'* 

" Ah, blessed vision ! " 

O Angel of purity, Angel of light, 
The gleam of thy wings o'er life's terrible night 
Has passed, and I worshiped thy beautiful form 
Which lighted the darkness, and banished the 
storm ! 

O Angel of purity, Angel of light, 
Than snows whirled around Thee thy cheek was 

more white. 
Thy look was too holy for mortal to see, — 
Thine eyes sadly drooping, I knew mourned for 

me. 

O Angel of purity, Angel of light, 
In the dust I am weeping, — Thou sacred ^ and 

bright. 
Forsake not my pathway, oh, never, nor now ! 
But lay the white death-snow in peace on my brow ! 

O Angel of purity, Angel of light. 
Let me follow Thee far ere Thou passest from 

sight, — 
Let me fly from the danger, the doubt, and the 

pain, 
Let me win from thy presence soul-gladness again I 



PURITAN 

AND 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE WHITE SHIELD'S MOTTO- 

" Thee, ever Thee." 

In life's new morning how the sparkling eye, 

The stainless forehead and the glowing cheek 
Grow brighter still with joy, and kindle high 

In wakening thought the lips know not to 
speak ! 
The waving woods, the soft and sunlit air, 

The varied music of the silver sea, 
All, all speak raptures to the spirit fair, 

And bid it worship Thee, Creator, Thee. 

Firm manhood comes, and the instructed mind 
Moves to one mastering sway, — a work is given, 

An earnest work its goal and joy to find 

Where o'er it lies the dawning smile of heaven. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 229 

Far in youth's beaming past he gathers light 
To mingle with a splendor yet to be ; 

Within, without, he finds a blest birthright, — 
Life's service-love to Thee, its Sovereign, Thee. 

Sorrow has found his pathway. One by one 

The music voices of his home are still, 
And hollow, strange, upon his own hearthstone 

His single footstep sounds with shuddering thrill. 
No more the heart may strive to all restrain 

Its sense of desertness, nor from it flee, — 
Whence shall refreshing come as summer rain ? 

From Thee, O Crucified, from Thee ! 

Death's icy arm enclasps the form of clay. 

The weary heart-throbs rise more faintly slow ; 
But soft and clear on the pale features play 

Joy- lights transcending all youth's raptured glow. 
The dreaded way has grown a shining gate 

With beauty garlanded, by which to free 
The soul too brightly filled on earth to wait 

By thoughts of Thee, O Glorified, of Thee. 



THE PURITAN MOTHER'S LESSON. 

You are looking around you, my darlings, 

On the world as it sheens to the eye. 
And you deem there are wondrous flowers, 



230 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And gems, for your seeking that vie. 
You reach eager hands out, my darlings. 

To grasp those treasures so dear, — 
But list to her whisper who loves you, 

You never will gain them here. 
Look away, look to heaven, my darlings, 

You never will find them here. 

Young companions come trooping, my darlings. 

Before you in beauty and mirth, 
And you dream of sweet joyous friendship 

To gladden your pathway on earth. 
You dream of friendship, my darlings. 

That knows not of failing nor fear, — 
But list to her whisper who loves you, 

You never will find it here; 
Look away, look to heaven, my darlings, 

You never will find it here. 

You pass by the gateway, ray darlings. 

That leads to some beautiful home. 
Soft quiet sleeps there in the shadows, — 

You think peace and love cannot roam. 
This, this is earth's sweetest dream, darlings, 

This home-dream of joys never sere, — 
But list to her whisper who loves you, 

You never will find it here. 
Look away, look to heaven, my darlings, 

You never will find it here. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 231 

Yet grieve not and fear not, my darlings, 

When false lights shine dim on the past ; 
There are beauty and truth all unmeasured 

Which may surely be won at the last. 
" Come to me " is the language, my darlings, 

Of Him, the all-perfect and fair ; 
He points us to love-lighted mansions, — 

And oh, He will meet with us there ! 
Look away, look to heaven, my darlings, 

All blest dreams are waiting you there. 



THE GARDEN PRAYER OF THE CHILDREN. 

AN INCIDENT. 
LOUISA. 

There are beautiful tints in the morning sky, 

I love them well ; 
There are birdie songs in the tree close by, — 



Of joy they tell. 

GENEVBA. 

There are whispers sweet in the breezy air, — 

How deep their tone ! 
God's voice — I seem to hear it there. 

Hushing my own. 

LOUISA. 

O sister, let us kneel and pray 
While He is near ; 



232 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The soft sky and the warm sun say, 
He '11 kindly hear. 

And they lowly knelt, those sisters sweet, 

With eyes of blue 
Like the spring violets at their feet — 

How reverent too ! 

List'ning aside with trembling thought 

Of life's far way, 
Rough, cold and drear for feet untaught, — 

I too will pray. 

O Father, Saviour, Holy Friend, 

Shield from all harm ! 
Clasp them while earth's strange woes impend 
Safe in thy arm. 



CHASTENING PAIN. 

Pain ! pain ! ah yes, I know that thou wilt cling 
Around my life, and ceaseless strive to bring 
Thy chains to bind my soul a captive. Yet 
Ungentle power, my soul may not forget 
Its spell to master thine. Have I not stood. 
When the swift dream of all things fair and good 
Eose like a memory to my inward eye, 
In such tranced joy, so wondrous and so high, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 233 

That a pure seraph breast might feel no more, 
And death were a light pang to win such htore ? 

Thou wilt return, stern monitor, and guide 
Till, wisely calm, my life renounce its pride ; 
But oh, deal gently with the wasting form 
Blighted and worn by the long desolate storm, — 
Deal gently with the tried and trembling heart — 
Let the Love- Voice be heard ere I depart ! 



TAKE THOU THY MOTHER'S KISS. 

Take thou thy mother's kiss, my slumbering one, — 
Though marble-cold thy brow, and unreplying 
Thy breathless lips, — yet take thy mother's ki«s 
And bear it with thee down to the death-chamber. 
Oh ! is there not some might in the fond love' 
Which clasps thee now, and goes with thee, even like 
These stainless flowers, down to thy shadowy bed, 
To make it fairer for thy gentle head ? 

Take thou, free spirit take this trembling kiss 
And bear it with thee up to where Christ dwelleth. 
When He shall smile, blessing his little one. 
Then tell Him of thy sad, sad mother — pray 
That his true light may rest on her wild way ! 
My last, my maiden sweet, has gained the shore. 



234 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The far, the shining shore where pain and death 
Can never follow her. 

Sternly thy bark, 
Thy slender quivering bark was tossed amid 
The deepening surges ; but they toss no more. 
White ministering hands of sister angels were 
Stretched out to welcome thee, and thou art borne 
On 'midst the golden streets and mansion walls 
Of the pure spirit-dwelling, with the Lord. 
His benediction o'er thy being now 
Has healed death's bitterness, and thou art know- 
ing 
What means Life's crystal river brightly flowing. 



A BIRD'S MINISTRY. 

I THANK thee, O bird, for choosing 
To build thy springtime nest 

So near to my gentle sleepers, — 
Not thou canst startle their rest. 

They have not heeded thy gliding 
In and out of the low cypi'ess-tree 

Where a fair and temple-like chamber 
Is greenly encurtained for thee. 

They heard not the whir of winglets 
Passed over them day by day, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 235 

Nor the sweet home talk with thy nestlings 
Stirred to life in the fragrant May : 

But it seems as I watch thee in silence — 
And the fancy is soothingly dear — 

Thou knowest the dead were gentle, 
And, living, would welcome thee near. 

It seems as a benediction 

With thy presence were falling around 
On the turf and the flower and the sorrow, — 

Oh lowly bird, how art thou crowned ! 

Our Father, who teachest the sparrow 
To cheer us, while soft airs caress, — 

May we learn, may we dare to believe them 
As they tell of thy graciousness. 

The lesson, the lesson we cherish 

But fain we would learn it of Thee, — 

We live, and we love, and we perish, 
Is there more of our life than we see ? 

Hush, hush, all my soul from this question — 
Clasp the treasure that is thine own, 

Forgetting the words which are spoken. 

Thou would st doubt if God spake from the 
throne. 



236 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MY PANSIES. 

Sown in the earth my violet seeds. 

My pansies bright and rare, 
Attentive eyes oft turned to meet 

A springing greenness there. 

Still, sought I not alone fair form 

Nor fair hues to the sight, 
White streaked with azure, " paly gold '^ 

Nor purple flashed with light : 

For in the dear earth's wondrous power 

To yield back every trust 
We read slow rhythms of prophecy 

That rise o'er death and dust. 

Low in the earth my violet seeds, 

My pansies bright and rare 
Were laid, but now the bursting blooms 

With beauty charm the aii\ 

The pearly white, the royal dark, 

Even as I hoped appear ; 
Praised be heaven's grace in little things 

In great we need not fear. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 237 

Low in the earth my loved ones lie, 

My violets white and rare, 
They wait the coming of their spring — 

A new life grandly fair ; 

And upward from their lowly bed 

My pansies brightly smile, — 
I wait the slower, richer joy 

With fervent faith the while. 



SNOW IN MAY. 

The snows came down in the air of May, 
The brown earth hid them soon away ; 
The flowers smiled through the driving white, 
They looked afar to a kinder light. 

And thus, I thought, is a loving heart, — > 
If sorrow come it will bear its part — 
Through driving snow and stormy strife 
It holds the pledge of its better lifco 

For each awaits a welcome hour — 
For loving heart and storm-beat flower, — 
To each is near the Sovereimi care 
Unfolding its beauty for summer air. 



238 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE BEST BOON. 

Yes, where to low-voiced winds the boughs are 
waving 
In the green covert of a leafy dell, 
Where streamlet dew white forest flowers are 
laving 
The charms of quiet and of freshness dwell. 
But griefs are ours, life's life too sternly gleaning. 

Which can kind nature's soothing spell defy. 
Eyes that from earth must turn in troubled mean- 
ing 
While worn hearts feel — 't were lovelier to die. 

When the full organ with harmonious thunder 

Stirs the strong pillars of majestic art 
Why pales the kneeling listener's cheek, and under 

Each shut and quivering lid the quick tears start ? 
It is that through the spirit-deeps far stealing 

The calmer music of an unseen sphere 
Brings echoes of some pure and vast revealing 

Of being's mystery denied us here. 

In love's young dream, when noble ones are loving. 
Who may deny the beauty and the power ? 

Not they who feeling's wordless depth are proving 
In the charmed circle of its ruling hour. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 239 

Yet even there will come a lone misgivinor 

Soul-whispered through love's truest, purest sigh, 

Till saddened o'er is the rich joy of living 

With thoughts that own, 't were holier to die. 

Thou, kind fair earth, hast many cups of gladness 

Which thou from murmuring lips withholdest 
not; 
And thine are many tones to cheer the sadness 

Brooding full oft above our exile lot ; 
But the one priceless boon for which the spirit 

Renders deep thanks and bows to suffering's rod, 
The best and last with thee we may inherit. 

Is a calm deathbed in the smile of God. 



AN ANGEL IS OURS. 

Haek, the bright hills along the reverent song 

And the harps of the radiant towers ! 
I know a voice in that chorus blest, 
A voice that is telling of heavenly rest, — 
'T is an angel — that angel is ours. 

O ! sweet and dear was her melody here. 

And precious her earthlife's brief hours 
When we looked on her form and her floating hair 
And her fair brow that told of a spirit more fair, — 
yp But an angel — an angel is ours. 



240 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

To this darkened clime come not back, where time 

And blight mar the fairest of flowers ; 
Though the light of home since thou passedst away 
No more on our hearts nor our dim walls may play, 
Thou angel, blest angel of ours. 

Thy dwelling we 've sought, far, far beyond thought 

And the reach of its loftiest powers ; 
But mayest thou stray in thy purity near 
This realm of our grief with whispers of cheer, 
Calm angel, bright angel of ours ? 

We know not — we bow — ceased vain questioning 
now ; 

We trust that, wherever thy bowers. 
Thy satisfied soul with his likeness is blest 
Who promised, and gives thee a fullness of rest, 

Loved angel — saved angel of ours. 



CHRISTMAS EVENING. 

Sweet hours, from us and all the living 
Ye glide once more away ; 

Bear with you our full hearts' thanksgiving, 
O blessed day ! 

Young voices ripj^le clear and purely 

The sacred hymn and line, — 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 241 

Thy world's rejoicing, Christ, oh, surely ! 
Thou knowest, — and mine. 

Ne'er can the heart — the world grow weary 

Of one all-radiant Name ; 
Through morn, and eve, and midnight dreary, 

It shines the same. 

Dear Light ! we feel — we feel thy brightness 

Guiding mysteriously, — 
Love's glow in more than starry whiteness, 

We worship Thee ! 



TWILIGHT. 

The evening twilight comes, — and how the room"^ 
We saw but with a careless eye by day 
Grows magical, and answers back to thought 
In meaning spells of sweet companionship ! 
Alone, the world might say, in gloomy night 
Of deep midwinter, where, without, the snow 
Weighs on the sighing pines till they arc hushed^ 
As when cold grief sinks slow upon the heart 
And has no language. 

— Nay, alone ? alone ? 
Why, in my fair and fire-glowed study-room 
I 'm royally attended. There, behold. 



242 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Just far enongli upon the wall to seem 
As honored guests are large-browed Whittier, 
And Lowell, — not too far, Italian Tasso 
With graceful mien, the courtly soldier bard. 
Turning in my slow carjjet ramble back, 
I linger long to meet the fixed grave eyes 
Of Albert Diirer, — and the kindlier gaze 
Of him, majestic for his goodness, loved, 
Yet passed away ; — a still, clear, starry light 
From us occulted.* 

Here upon the easel 
A picture leans of childlike innocence 
Touched with the charm of coming womanhood, 
A pearly ray of something more than light, — 
This, too, occulted. 

On the marble lie 
Beneath my lamp Carlyle's best essays. He 
Will speak his thought, his best, as loftily 
As 't were a king's ear heard, I listening well, 
As kings not always are when wise men speak. 
O thunderer, speak now, and I shall hear 
The boom of ocean, and the awful voice 
Of all infinities, — infinity 
Of space, of time, of life, of death, of woe, 
And, fellest, mournfulest of all, the voice 
Of mind's infinity of mocked despair. 
Thou master spirit, couldst thou never find 
In all the range of thy wide stormy way 

* Longfellow. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 243 

One smiling hope, one golden sunset glow 

To light the dark of our humanity ? 

Couldst thou not hear sometimes the whispers low 

Of spirit-love hovering in all the air? 

Then was thy hearing false, for they are there, 

And hallowing through the cold material force. 

I '11 bring Lord D'Encourt Tennyson — 't is true 

I 'm royally attended. I can share 

Even at my will the heart-toned melody 

An Empress long has loved, — so, as I say 

I bring Lord Tennyson ; and lose myself 

In Idyls sweet of joy and nobleness. 

If God so loved the world as to create 
And people it, somewhere they are, the grand, 
The good, the knightly true, — Arthur, brave Lan- 
celot, 
And white Sir Galahad. I have believed 
In these ; and will believe that I have found 
Their counterpart in life's wild tournay, men 
Whose looks were victories, whose thoughts were 

more 
Than bugle echoes aud the lance's point ; 
Men whom the bounding steed of well-earned fame 
Bore proudly on, and yet, if they would speak 
The voice was low ; and, listen, they were telling 
How bravely rode and conquered other knights. 



244 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



EST MEMORIAM. 

Snows drift across thy grave, my friend. 

Snows drift across my heart ; 
We walked together in life's way, — 

We must, yet cannot part. 

Lowly they laid thy earth-form there, 

Lonely I wander here, 
Broken the tie, unclasped the chain 

Whose severed links are dear. 

Yet something of thy soul I know 

Is lingering still with me, — 
Would I could know some thoughts of mine 

Dwell kindly still with thee ! 

Our hearth-fire brightly burns, O friend. 

And in its glowing light 
A chair stands waiting as of old 

For thee — for thee to-night. 



GENEVIEVE. 

My heart-beloved, my sweet Genevieve, 
Earth has thy form, — but never will I grieve 
For thee for this. Thy pure poetic dreams, 
Born of fresh youth and heaven's caressing beams 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 245 

As lilies are, shall evermore be bright, — 
For what can fade, O spirit, in that light 
Where God is seen ; and fear and doubt are things 
That fetter not again life's upward wings. 



HEARD. 

The words were true — my dream, my dream ! 
The words were true — my dream ; 
When sorrow-tost, thou loved and lost, 
Thy whispers near me seem, 

O friend, 
Thy whispers near me seem. 

The dreamings are so sweet, so sweet, 
The dreamings are so sweet, 
I will not, vain, ask heart nor brain 
If they 're a fond deceit, 
O friend, 
If they 're a fond deceit. 

It lingers still anear, anear, 

It lingers still anear, — 

Thy welcome tone, my loved, my own, 

Thy greeting kind and dear, 

O friend. 
Thy greeting kind and dear. 



246 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE LAST PAGE. 

My work is finished, — shall cold scorning meet 
Thoughts I have loved ? Their fate let me con- 
fide 
To Sovereign judgment ; what earth may decide 

I shall not know in the low slumber sweet 

Which waits me where no voice my ear can greet 
That comes not wafted from the spirit side 
Of the still mystery which doth divide 

Present from future as a calm retreat. 

Of all the vanished loved no one returns, 
No eye unseals with us to smile or weep ; 

Its trust from Thee, O God, my spirit learns. 
Through all the boundlessness of thought's lone 
deep. 

Thine is the guiding light that purely burns, 

The welcome thine for which my faint life yearns. 




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